Benders: Dragonfire
by Jaya Avendel
Summary: In a breath, he had bloodied Legolas and infuriated Thranduil. In a breath, he knew pride and hatred. In a breath, Thorin Oakenshield knew an elf would walk beside him, that he would face Smaug with the most unlikely of friends, and perhaps not walk from Erebor with the Arkenstone in his hands. In a breath, he knew dragonfire. Fourth in Benders.
1. In A Breath

Thorin cast an evil glare in the direction of Prince Legolas. He could only assume the elf was Prince Legolas, due to his striking resemblance to that filth, King Thranduil. If he could even be called a king . . .

Surrounded by elves, accosted on his way to Erebor, his temper found itself displaced. Stripped of his weapons, his dignity, he fumed, feeling something build up within him. He glanced again at the elves; tall, haughty creatures!

"My Lord, Legolas! This blade we found upon the dwarf with the evil glare. It is a curious blade."

Thorin ground his teeth. Orcrist! His sword. His sword!

"This is the blade of our people!" Legolas exclaimed, turning the weapon in his hands before he slid it back into its sheath. "I shall deliver this to ada when we return."

Thorin's eyes exploded as Legolas—that creature—slid the sheath into his own belt. His anger grew as he thought of Thranduil holding the weapon. He lunged forward at Legolas, his fingers clawing to wrap around his throat. He hurtled past two startled elves, ducking their attempts to restrain him. Legolas spun around with wide eyes, his mouth open to issue a command but the words died on his lips, transforming into a cry of pain as Thorin swung a hand at him.

A streak of white lightning exploded from the dwarf's palm, shocking Thorin as much as the elf, and caught Legolas square in the chest. The elf flew back into a tree, his chest smoking.

The elves let out a unified gasp of horror. "He is a bender!" One black-haired elf dropped to his knees beside Legolas. "Legolas! Oh, my lord Legolas!"

Thorin stood still, unsure if it had been a dream, half-dazed as two elves grabbed his arms. As he was dragged back, he let out a scream. "Kili! Nephew!"

The dwarves surged forward but the elves closed like a tidal wave and held them back.

"Kili!" Thorin yelled. His nephew turned toward him, his dark eyes confused, and froze as a stray spider rose behind him. He stumbled and fell as the spider came at him, managing to roll onto his back before meeting the gaze of the creature standing over him. His eyes opened in horror but blinked in surprise as the spider jerked and tumbled flat to his left. From its back, jerking free her knives, a woman leapt down. Her eyes met Kili's and he swallowed.

"That filth dwarf has shot the Prince, Tauriel," the black-haired elf at the prince's side said. "Vengeance is in order."

"I will assist you in your task," a cold voice said.

Thorin's eyes bulged as an elf dropped from the low branch of a tree. The newcomer's blonde hair hung in a braid and he carried a spear, held in both hands. His blue eyes were icy fire, his jaw set in a grim line. Dressed in black, with a shirt of mail covering his chest, he radiated hostility.

Kili stumbled to a halt beside Thorin as Tauriel released his collar and turned away. Kili met Thorin's eyes before they both looked at the new arrival.

"He resembles Legolas exactly," Kili murmured.

"What foul evil is this?" Fili wondered.

Tauriel gave a slight bow to the newcomer. "My Lord Brenen. I fear Thorin Oakenshield has slain Prince Legolas."

Brenen inclined an eyebrow as he stepped to Legolas's side. "My brother is stronger then that. Jen, take my brother to the healing wing." His voice was steady with anger.

Jen nodded and slipped his arms under his prince, lifting the moaning Legolas as he stood. He glanced at Brenen before he disappeared into the forest.

"Evil!" Thorin spat in Brenen's direction. "What foul magic has created you and your clone? What price of innocent blood has been spilled in this unholy birth? What _sickness _have you awakened?"

Brenen's eyes flashed. He flung out a hand, a roll of flame bursting to life in the air. The heat blew Thorin's hair back.

"Enough!" Brenen shouted.

Thorin fell into startled silence with a last scornful spit. Behind him, his company murmured.

Brenen stepped up to Thorin. "You will argue no further, and neither will you insult the children of my parents. Move or you will know the wrath brimming in my heart, and you will have no need to fear dragonfire but mine instead!"

"Best not to argue, lad," Balin spoke in his ear. "Not under the circumstances. Best do as he says."

Brenen gestured to the surrounding elves. "Come," he said. "The dungeon hungers for prisoners."

* * *

Legolas cracked his eyes open. He let out a sharp hiss as a soft hand touched his forehead. "Nana?"

"Yes, my little leaf, it is me," Cinwe said, her voice as soft as the hand stroking Legolas's forehead. "Lie still; you are hurt."

"The lightning bolt," Legolas began.

"Jen told us all," Cinwe said, placing a finger on his lips. "And Thorin Oakenshield is secure, with Brenen watching over him."

Legolas sank into his pillows. Cinwe tucked the blankets around him. "The healers have tended to your chest. You will not die for your armor took most of the blow. What you need now is rest."

Legolas nodded. "But may I see ada first?"

"He is on his way," Cinwe said, studying the angle of the sunlight on the floor. "Or he should be; he had a meeting."

The door of the room flew open, admitting Thranduil. He walked in the flames of his silken mantle, dressed in full royal garb, with his hair down and his crown resplendent on his head. He gave his wife a kiss as she rose and then leaned over his son.

"Legolas?" he inquired softly, should his son be asleep.

Legolas turned his head to look at his father. "Ada, I must apologize. I failed in my duties to bring the prisoners safely home."

If he had not been hurt, Thranduil looked like he would have shaken him. "Have I raised so poorly you fear failure? That you fear rejection from me? You failed in no way; Thorin's powers were beyond our comprehension to predict."

"But Brenen handled it so well," Legolas croaked.

"Brenen," said Thranduil, taking Legolas's hand, "Was not hit by a lightning bolt."

"He would not have been hit," Legolas murmured. "His reflexes have always been better than mine."

"He has been training with Jaiz," Thranduil said. "Brenen has the talent Jaiz too possesses; natural skill with body and blade. Your skills are honed and experiences, ion nin, but you cannot expect to meet the level of a natural."

Legolas sighed. "I _am _useless. But will you at least give me a hug?"

Thranduil opened his mouth to correct but stopped as he saw the tease in Legolas's eyes. He leaned down to hug him. "Of course. Brenen is as unsatisfied as you; natural talent is not all he longs for."

Legolas yawned, pressing himself against his father's chest. "Mmm . . . I know what he wishes for most, ada . . . I do not want it yet."

Thranduil rested his chin on Legolas's head and smiled quietly. He too knew what Brenen desired. Cinwe reached to take his crown, saying, "Have you nothing else to do?"

"No," Thranduil said. "I will burn the dwarves another day."

Cinwe placed the crown on the bedside table. "Do not allow you anger to cloud your judgement, Thrandy. I know it can be hard sometimes, but I believe in your control."

"Without it, we would have a far larger brood," Thranduil teased.

Cinwe hid a smile. "You may speak the truth. I hardly know how you can keep your hands off me."

Thranduil slid his legs under the blankets on Legolas's bed. Legolas mumbled, "I wish you would talk about these things elsewhere; it makes me come all over queer."

"You are a little old for that," Thranduil remarked, amused. As he flopped down and drew Legolas close to him, Cinwe tugged away the folds of his mantle. She leaned down to kiss him. "Rest, my love, you do need it. It is a pity Legolas must injure himself to get you to sleep."

Thranduil smiled sleepily. "Let Mykar have run of the office; he does enjoy the work. It amazes me."

"You amaze me," Cinwe said.

* * *

Brenen stood on the high ledge, looking down at the row of cell doors set in the wall opposite. He wore a wistful expression as he thought of the dwarves

A path cut into the stone wound past the cell doors; leading into steps leading to the deep chasms of the cellars. Brenen leaned his spear against the wall behind him before returning to the ledge. He crossed his arms; Tauriel sat below at the cell of the dwarf she had saved. Brenen could not hear what she said for he wishes not to eavesdrop but the expressions on their faces said enough.

Brenen crouched down on the balls of his feet and rested his elbows on his knees with a small sigh. It was not love he craved, though it looked appealing. He craved something as wild and unpredictable as love and briefly wondered when his father would speak to Thorin.

* * *

**It is done! Benders: Dragonfire is a tale alive, to be updated every Thursday. Apologies for the snaffu on Tuesday. I did indeed post this tale but Fan fiction bugged up and broke the link.**

**Have you enjoyed the opening premise of this tale? Let me know so I know which of you beautiful souls, new and old, are reading! **


	2. Rotting Crowns

"Ada demands the presence of Thorin," Realn declared, coming to a stop behind Brenen. "We are to bring him up and be mindful, as the dwarf is as savage as a loose spider."

"I have been on guard for the past day," Brenen smirked, grinning at his second quadruplet. "I will be careful."

"I almost feel for the dwarf," Realn mused as he and Brenen jogged down the stairs into the dungeon. "Ada is sure to explode."

Brenen pursed his lips. "What do you propose; murder in cold blood?" He chuckled. "I will stay to calm him if ada decides to roast Thorin."

Realn looked doubtful as he buried the key in his hands into the lock of Thorin's cell and pulled the door open. Tucking the key away, he faced the sullen dwarf within.

"King Thranduil requires and audience with you," Realn announced. He stepped back and gestured to Thorin. "If you will come with us?"

"What if I do not care to grace that orc with my presence?" Thorin growled.

"Shall I come back another day?" Realn inquired. His eyes turned hard. "It is not a choice you can control. Please come with us."

"Which one are you?" Thorin growled as he stalked from the cell, shrugging off Realn's attempt to grab his forearm.

Brenen and his brother exchanged worried glances, thinking it unwise for a smoldering Thorin to meet and equally smoldering Thranduil at the throne.

"Do you not want to see the demon who spawned you die?" Thorin sneered.

Brenen stopped and glared at the dwarf. "I am tired of hearing you insult my family. My brothers and I are quadruplets, created by nothing more than love!"

"Your mother must be a lump," Thorin sneered.

Brenen gritted his teeth as he marched behind the dwarf. _I hope ada can control himself for I am already on the verge of eruption._

They climbed the stairs and platforms weaving through the palace until the high dais of the King's platform rose into view. Thorin stepped onto it with a grunt, eyes fixed on the throne as his lips curled.

Jeweled branches spread out behind Thranduil, matching the twined twigs of his crown. The throne was carved from a giant root, draped with the folds of the king's black and red mantle.

Brenen and Realn stood at the head of the stairs, hands behind their back as they watched with anxious expressions.

Thorin met Thranduil's eyes with a sneer. "Does the great King Thranduil demand a bow? What have you summoned me for, demon? If it is to offer your aid, send me to my cell! I would take the aid of an orc before yours. Sit here like the coward you are until the trees rot around you!"

If Thranduil had managed to control his temper before, he now exploded. Rising and leaning forward into Thorin's face, he spat, "I would rather aid mortals then you! It was not act of cowardice that kept me from you in your hour of need; I needed my people here, to defend my own home."

"You spin webs of lies," Thorin declared.

"I do not. I would have come to you, Thorin Oakenshield, but if I had, the evils of Dol Guldor would have overtaken this part of the world."

"Filth!" Thorin returned. "With your powers—"

"My powers do not open all the doors of the universe. I am one elf. But, with your powers, you may be able to kill a dragon . . ."

Thorin's eyes flickered. Thranduil said, "You are untrained, and your bending uncontrollable, but I am willing to teach you."

"Never!" Thorin bellowed. "I do not care to learn from an elf who models as much as a rotting corpse!"

Thranduil's eyes blazed. "I will not be insulted in my own home by the likes of you!"

"And I would rather learn to bend on my own," Thorin spat.

"Lightning is a wild thing, Thorin," Thranduil warned.

"As wild as dragonfire?" Thorin returned.

Thranduil's eyes darkened. "Do not speak to me of dragonfire. I know more of it then you could gain in a thousand lifetimes."

Thorin recoiled as the scar on Thranduil's cheek opened. "You are more monster then I thought! What evil have you condemned your sons to?"

Realn stiffened with indignation, throwing an angry look at Thorin as Brenen laid a hand on his arm.

"We all know of the generosity, the willingness to help, the kindness of King Thranduil!" Thorin bellowed, striding to the edge of the platform. "In years he has not changed."

Thranduil's hands curled and Brenen saw smoke escape them. "Then sit in my dungeons until the walls crumble over your bones!"

He collapsed into the throne and fumed. "You almost killed my son! Despite seeing him in pain, writhing in agony, I was willing to help you, and this is how I am received! Take him out of my sight!"

Brenen hesitated, unsure of what to say before he and Realn accosted Thorin and dragged him out of harm's way. Down below, paused on the stairs under the throne platform, a book under one arm and a scroll in hand, Mykar Thranduilion considered what he had heard. His face a mask of studious thought, fingers stained with ink, he continued to climb the stairs, struck by the anger of the situation and seeing no sense in it at all.

* * *

**Thorin and Thranduil . . . each as proud as the Kings before them. Can we agree this meeting of Kings did not go well?**

**Thank you for peeking into the pages of this tale! Do let me know who you are through a word! **

**Next Chapter: Thranduil is indignant. _"__You, go gallivanting off with a pack of wild dwarves on a quest to unleash a dragon?"_**


	3. Parted Lips

Thranduil raised his head from his hand as Mykar stepped up onto the throne platform with a slight but unnecessary bow. He was dressed in a blue robe belted at the waist.

Seeing the book and scroll he held, Thranduil groaned. "Mykar, this is not the time for questions on office work."

"I have not come with that intention," Mykar said. "I overheard your conversation with Thorin."

At the sound of Thorin's name, Thranduil snapped, "Leave me."

"No," said Mykar.

Thranduil's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "How dare you disobey me!"

"You allowed your anger to rule you," Mykar said. "If you had used reason, you could have reached an agreement with Thorin."

"Mykar!" Thranduil roared. "I will not have my actions questioned by you, of all inexperienced people!"

Mykar swallowed. "I know you are angry Thorin hurt Legolas. But you are ignoring everything you have taught me about negotiation. I am worried about Legolas, but I think you went too far with Thorin; the lightning bolt was accident."

He saw Thranduil's hand in the corner of his vision before it jerked his head to the side. Even as he did it, Thranduil clenched his hand back, horrified. In all his years, he had never struck his children.

Mykar's face stayed turned from him, a red mark blossoming on his cheek with Thranduil's guilt. As he stood, Thranduil saw the hurt brimming in his son's eyes. His slap may as well have been a knife.

"Mykar," Thranduil whispered.

"I will not forgive you," Mykar said, his voice shaking. "Now you treat me like Thorin."

Dropping book and scroll at Thranduil's feet, he strode away, his hands clenched at his side and tears cold on his cheeks. He left Thranduil standing half-dazed, his lips trembling, his heart in pieces. When he looked at his hand, he wanted to cut it off.

"Thranduil!"

He turned, dismayed and ashamed to see Cinwe standing behind him, her eyes wide and her mouth half-open. "What have you done? You hit him, our own son, without thought or care! You hit him when he was only trying to show you sense! If I were human, I would slap you hard."

She shook a finger under Thranduil's nose, and he blinked, his arms going limp. "I was not thinking."

"An apology is in dire order," Cinwe said.

Thranduil shook himself. "Yes, of course, immediately."

Cinwe watched him hurry away. She turned as Brenen hopped off the stairs behind her. "You father has unsettled business with Mykar, but I am here, and my ears are open."

Brenen sat down in the throne and swung his legs over one arm. "Well, I was hoping to speak to ada about the dwarves and I thought he would be calm by now. I am interested in joining Thorin on his quest for Erebor. They could use my help with the dragon, and I could use the adventure."

"A pretty way to say you desperately need to flee home for the sake of your sanity," Cinwe teased. "You are lucky Thranduil is not here; I am sure you would have relit his fury."

Brenen examined a fingernail. "And what do you think?"

Cinwe put a hand on his head, untangling a few knots in his hair with her fingers as she stroked. "I know you want adventure—that you need adventure or at least change. It is as if the war with Dol Guldor was not enough for you."

"But, nana," Brenen objected. "That was years ago! It may have been a hard war, but it was at home. I do not want blood, I want exploration! I cannot find that here."

"Ah, I see," his mother said. "I do not think your father will agree."

"That is where you come in," Brenen said with a grin.

* * *

Thranduil knocked on Mykar's door. He received no answer but rejecting silence. He frowned, hesitating, before he opened the door and went in. He stood still as Mykar's eyes turned him to ice.

"I apologize for hitting you," Thranduil said, the words almost mute on his lips. "I was not thinking, and I let my anger take control. I am sorry."

Mykar's burning eyes slid to his lap. He knew how hard it was for his father to swallow his pride and ask for forgiveness. The mark on his cheek had faded but his heart was still raw. He looked up as Thranduil stepped closer to him and leaned down to kiss his cheek. All at once, his face warped into a tearful smile and he leaned forward for a hug.

"I forgive you, ada," he murmured into Thranduil's chest. "I know it was an accident."

Thranduil relaxed and squeezed him. "Thank you, ion nin, for being so understanding."

"I do not know if I am," Mykar said. "You never hit us when we were little, barely up to your waist, and driving you crazy. You could have. Humans do."

"I could have done many things," Thranduil said. "But if I had hit you, you would not be who you are today. I never wanted my sons to fear me when they have done something wrong. I always want their first thought to be that their parents are there to help."

Mykar bit his lip to keep back a wicked smile. "I have an essay due on family."

"Do not dare quote me," Thranduil said.

The door flew open and Brenen strode in, demanding, "I must talk to you, ada."

"You may speak freely," Thranduil said, still hugging Mykar.

Brenen cleared his throat. "I wish to join Thorin on his quest to Erebor."

Thranduil's hands stopped on Mykar's back. "You, go gallivanting off with a pack of wild dwarves on a quest to unleash a dragon?"

Brenen had the grace to flush. "When you say it like that, it does sound mad, but I hardly expected your consent."

Thranduil snorted. "At least part of your mind is in working order!"

"Allow me to rephrase," Brenen said. "I am going with Thorin to Erebor."

"I hope you realize how thin the ice is under you," Thranduil warned.

"Oh, now you become a tyrant!" Brenen snapped. "You have no reason to hate dwarves! What have they done to you?"

"Thorin almost killed you brother!"

Mykar sat up. "Ada, we are only half the age you were when you left Mirkwood. We have fought for our home and the looming fear of losing it was nothing compared to how Thorin feels. We are together, but he is scattered and torn. Legolas's injury was an accident, and he is healing. Here you are letting your anger take over again."

"I will be of great use to the dwarves," Brenen insisted. "And I can help Thorin master his bending."

"You are too young to know dragonfire."

Brenen frowned. "I do not know myself that dozens of centuries is too young. I have spent my life training with you and Jaiz. I am capable of defending myself."

Thranduil closed his eyes. When he opened them, he grasped Brenen by the shoulders and met his son's eyes. "Brenen, it is hard to let a son go to face dragonfire in the company of strangers. Every night while you are gone, I will wonder how you are, and I will hope you live to see home again."

"You will let me go?"

Thranduil nodded. "I will. I will let you go with my blessings because I do not wish to see you flee from me like I fled my father, and also because I love you."

Brenen hugged him, masking the sudden tears in his eyes. "Thank you, ada. I appreciate your blessings. I will come home. I swear it."

Thranduil ran a hand down his son's strong back. "Do not make promises you cannot keep."

"We must inform Thorin of your decision," Mykar said, clasping his hands behind him as he rose. "And we must inform nana and our brothers of your departure."

Brenen made a dash for the door. "Nana already knows, of course."

Thranduil watched the door swing shut. He turned to Mykar with a small sigh and held out a hand. His son came to take it with a smile. As he and Mykar progressed the hall, Realn came to meet them. He fell into step beside his quadruplet.

"I hear Brenen is accompanying Thorin," he said.

"Indeed," Thranduil agreed.

"May I go with him?"

Thranduil stopped. "No!" His arm cut through the air in time with the word.

"Why not?" Realn demanded. "You will not lose us, ada."

"I am not afraid of losing you," Thranduil said. "But your uncontrollable bursts of anger will hinder you and may cause you to harm others or make bad choices."

Realn's eyes pooled with angry tears. The words cut him, making him not good enough; flawed, tainted, imperfect. Swallowing hard, he walked away, his hands clenched at his sides.

"First you and now Realn," Thranduil groaned to Mykar. "Who else will I hurt today?"

* * *

**Family drama! What will Thorin say to an _elf_ addition to his party?**

**Thank you for reading; I love hearing your thoughts on the twists and turns of this tale! **


	4. Reflection's Pool

"My lord! My lord! My lord Thranduil!"

Thranduil looked up as an elf guard barreled toward him. He let go of Mykar's hand.

"The dwarves are gone," the elf gasped, skidding to a halt. "My lord."

"Valar!" Thranduil exclaimed. He gave Mykar a push. "Quick, find Brenen. I will check the healing wing; he may be saying goodbye to Legolas."

Father and son split. Thranduil raced for Legolas's room in the healing wing, coming up short as Brenen looked at him from the bed.

"The dwarves have gone," Thranduil said. "If you are serious, you had best follow them and explain circumstances later."

Brenen leaned down to kiss his brother's forehead. Legolas said, "Be careful," and squeezed his hand. "Tell me everything when you come home."

"I will," Brenen promised. "Farewell. I will see you again when my heart is full."

Thranduil folded Brenen into an embrace, resting a cheek against his head. "Be careful, ion nin, I love you."

"I love you," Brenen whispered. He slid an arm around Cinwe as she joined them. "So much."

The embrace lasted moments longer before Brenen broke away and headed for the door. Thranduil let out a breath, feeling as if the absence of one son already leeched away more light from the day then the dark.

Brenen met his mother and Mykar on the bridge outside the palace and said his goodbyes. Cinwe cautioned, "An orc pack is hunting the dwarves; they took the river to freedom. Be careful, ion nin."

"There are days when your worry annoys me, but I will keep it in mind every step of my journey," Brenen said. "As I cannot find Realn, say goodbye to him for me."

With a last look back, Brenen stepped off the bridge, plummeting to the water. A jet of flame propelled him forward, a fast-moving reflection of himself in the liquid matter below.

Mykar waved until he rounded the river bend. At his speed, Brenen caught sight of the dwarves within minutes, a comical sight in barrels, dripping and bedraggled at the gates blocking the river.

Elves and orcs wrestled along the river bank, struggling for control on the bridge into which the gates were set. Thorin was tugging at the gates and howling, his rage reminding Brenen of an animal.

A moment later Thorin hurled his hand back and then forward. A jet of lightning blew through the metal, cutting a chunk from the portcullis and leaving jagged ends poking out. The barrels shot through the opening as Thorin shouted, "Take that, you point-eared snot!"

As Brenen skimmed over the bridge, he felled an orc with his spear and teased a wall of flame to life. Leaving several orcs burning, he continued down the river, feeling the heat of the flames beneath his feet on his face. He caught sight of the dwarves around a bend as his feet met solid ground. He planted his spear in the gut of an orc aiming a crossbow down at Thorin's head as he matched the current's pace.

When the bank dropped down with a waterfall, preventing further pursuit by elves and orcs alike, Brenen saluted the elves gathered and stepped off the cliff. Slowing his descent by way of a few jets of flame, he landed crouched. Taking a moment to tidy himself, he set off down the bank, whistling.

* * *

Thorin stumbled out of his barrel and sloshed through the shallow water at the river's edge. His legs were stiff and wooden as he stepped onto the rocky beach where the river emptied out into a wide lake.

"Free from accursed land at last!" Thorin growled, wiping his hands on his legs. He turned to grasp Bilbo by the shoulders as the hobbit came up the shore, tidying his waistcoat.

"You never fail to amaze me, Master Baggins!" he exclaimed, crushing Bilbo in a heart hug. "How did you do it?"

Bilbo stepped back with a wavering smile as he hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat. "Well, I am a burglar, after all," he said.

The dwarves broke out in chuckles. Balin patted Bilbo on the back. "Well done, lad. We are all entitled to secrets." He winked.

Thorin rubbed his hands together. "I would love to shove you in Thranduil's snotty face. Let him rot knowing a hobbit outmaneuvered him."

Bilbo looked alarmed. "I would thank you not to do so; I am sure I would get dirty and I am out of handkerchiefs."

Thorin frowned. "How to cross this lake, I wonder?"

Bilbo tapped his shoulder. "Uh, Thorin?"

"A fine party we make," Thorin grumbled. "Here we are, armor-less weaponless, and boat-less! We may as well still be in chains."

Bilbo coughed. "Thorin."

Thorin kicked a rock into the lake. "And Durin's Day nearing to!"

"Thorin!" Bilbo shouted.

Thorin swung around, snapping, "What? Have you a genius plan, Master Baggins? I would _love _to hear it!"

Bilbo pointed past the hushed dwarves in silence.

"You!" Thorin exploded.

Brenen grinned from his perch on the high bank rising from the beach. "It is I, Brenen Thranduilion."

"I care not!" Thorin spat. He flung out a hand and a sizzling lightning bolt flung up dirt into Brenen's eyes. "Unless you want the next one so much closer, leave my sight!"

Brenen landed on the beach. "I ask you to listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield."

"Give me one fair reason!"

Brenen tugged something from his belt and tossed it to him. the dwarf caught it with a grunt, glaring suspiciously at Orcrist. "Is this a bribe?"

"I had to steal it from my brother!" Brenen objected, his eyes twinkling.

"You have my ear if you have anything worthwhile to say," Thorin grunted.

Brenen smiled. "Good. I am here to help you reclaim your homeland; my father sent me with his blessings."

"Did he now?" Thorin said with interest.

Brenen nodded. Thorin scowled. "And what can you do to help us? I dare say since my gifts have evolved, I do not need help."

"I can get you across the lake," Brenen said, pointing to the water. "I can help you master your bending. With powers such as yours, properly controlled, you will be able to battle Smaug on even ground."

Thorin glanced at his companions. "And since when has King Thranduil been so generous?"

"Mykar talked some sense into him," Brenen supplied. "And nana may have helped. He was upset because you hurt Legolas. When he is beyond attempting to control his anger, he does not think."

Thorin considered. "I only have your word for it."

Brenen shrugged. "My word is as good as yours."

"What is the price?"

"I do beg your pardon?"

"What does King Thranduil demand in return for his aid?"

"Oh," said Brenen. "Nothing. After all, it is not his aid, it is mine. So, you should be asking me what I demand." He grinned at Thorin's expression. "All I want is adventure."

"I say we take him up on his offer, lad," Balin said low to Thorin. "We need to cross the lake. Durin's Day nears, Thorin."

"We will kill him later," Thorin agreed.

"Hey now!" Balin exclaimed.

Thorin turned away. "Braxan—Brezel—whatever your name is, we accept your offer."

"Brenen," said the elf. He mocked, "Tulin, Thorn, whatever your name is, we will start on bending tomorrow."

Thorin's face hardened. "We will see about that. Now hold good to your promise and get us across this lake."

Brenen shook a finger. "First you must collect your belongings before Ciran lets them bob into the lake."

A raft floated down the river, lazily guided by the fingers of the blue-haired elf sitting on the edge. As he spotted Brenen, he waved and let the raft bump along the shore. He said, "King Thranduil sends his best wishes and demands that you, Brenen, be careful."

"I will," Brenen said. "Thank you, Ciran."

The elf nodded and threw himself backward into the river, sinking beneath the surface without a splash.

"Hope he drowns," Thorin said dispassionately, as the dwarves gathered their belongings from the raft.

"He will not," Brenen said. "Uncle Ciran bends water."

"Of course, he does," Thorin grunted. "Frightful blue hair."

Fili held up a tiara as he picked out his knives from the raft. "What in Durin's name is this?"

"There is a note," Bombur said, pointing to a slip of paper attached to the crown.

Fili read, "_Dearest ion, though I may have to let you out of my sight, you shall forever be in my heart. And while I must let you wander in the company of strangers; you shall not wander without your tiara. Love, ada._"

The dwarves dissolved into choked giggles, erupting into bellows of laughter as Fili pranced around with the circlet of twigs and leaves on his head, bowing and scraping. Brenen snatched it, his cheeks flushed.

Thorin swallowed his last chuckle and turned to Brenen. "We have a lake to cross and no time to waste."

"Our transport should be here soon," Brenen said, a little self-conscious with the crown in his hands. "I suppose I shall need this after all."

A suppressed chuckle ran its course as Brenen set the crown on his head. Bilbo patted his pockets as he approached the elf. Though Brenen was twice his height, the hobbit was undaunted. "I do appreciate the new handkerchiefs King Thranduil sent me."

Brenen grinned. "Those may have been for me." At Bilbo's expression, he hastily said, "I shall pass on your gratitude, or you may do so yourself when we next see him."

Bilbo patted his pockets to make sure the precious pieces of linen were still there before he walked toward the shore. Oin bumped into him as he turned, shouting, "Thorin! Everyone! Come look!"

* * *

**Dearest people, I have done it! Taken the plane alone with three transits to spend 11 days in the heart of the desert with my aunt in Tucson. As I write, I post this from the uncomfortable chair of Gate 21A from Atlanta! Imagine. I have travelled, and so has Dragonfire now; it has flown straight to your inbox. Hope you enjoyed! Your thoughts would brighten the final tiring flight ahead. **

**Thank you for reading. You are forever in my heart.**

**Next Chapter: We meet two remarkable men. **


	5. Serpents

The dwarves rushed to the edge of the lake and stared at the approaching vessel as it came around a bend in the shore. It was a large barge with a single sail steered by an oar. It came to rest on the shallow bottom of the lake and a man alighted. He stared at the dwarves as he reached for his longbow.

Dressed in shirt and trousers, covered by a coat of rusty brown, he was no doubt a man of Laketown. His dark eyes bored into the dwarves.

Brenen strode forward. "My dear fellow, you must be our transport."

The man's lips moved beneath his moustache before he said, "I was told I would be picking up cargo here."

"And you expected barrels?" Brenen said.

"To be truthful, yes," the human admitted.

Brenen drew himself up. "I am Brenen Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood. My father requested a barge be sent here to take Thorin and company into Laketown and then onward to the opposite shore. King Thranduil is a fair businessman and your services will be paid for. Naturally."

The human eyed Brenen before he glanced at the dwarves. "I cannot enter Laketown without the proper pass for passengers."

Brenen grinned. "Nasty bit of goods at the gate, aye? I dare say I am pass enough, my dear fellow! Let us carry on and I shall deal with our entry into your lovely town on the lake."

"I could be arrested," said the man.

Brenen reached into his belt pouch and emptied it into the human's hand. "Five, ten, twenty, sixty gold. Should be enough for all of us and to keep your family from starving if you are put behind bars. And your name is?"

The human shook himself before he pocketed the coins. "Ah—um—Bard—Bard of Laketown."

Brenen clapped his hands together. "Lovely to meet you. Shall we start the boarding now, Bard?"

Bard felt his jingling pocket before he moved aside and gestured to the barge. "Please, be my guests."

The dwarves piled onto the craft. Bilbo and Brenen stepped up last as Bard joined them. He used the oar to shove the vessel into the water and turned the sail to catch the wind. It surged forward, heading toward the center of the lake.

"What is your business in Laketown?" Bard asked. "It is not every day dwarves pass through in the company of royalty."

"Quite right," Brenen agreed. "We are passing through and heading for the lands beyond."

Bard looked sharply at the elf before he fell into silence, staring out ahead over the water. A wide cluster of houses and buildings came into view, spread out over the surface of the lake. The vague forms of people moved about the houses while boats glided on the waterways.

Bard guided the barge up to the only waterway leading into Laketown. It was blocked by a wooden gate and the vessel stopped alongside a building. A door opened and a man stepped out onto the planks, dressed in a black robe with greasy hair on his shoulders. He stood half-slumped, creeping forward like a coyote on the hunt.

"Well, well, well, Bard," he sneered, his lips a natural sneer, his leery eyes glinting. "What is this I see?"

Bard turned to Brenen with a small sigh. "This is Albert; the Master's second hand."

Albert came closer, up to the edge of the planks over the water and tilted his head to one side. He plucked a piece of paper from Bard's hand. "You seem to have a pass for the transport of _barrels_, Bard, not—let me see now—fifteen passengers."

Bard leaned an elbow on the wide top of the barge side. "I am aware of that, Albert, but I am not such a fool to come up here without good reason; some assurance for my troubles."

Thorin stalked forward. "This is wasting time, greasebag! Let us pass; we have paid good money for this ride."

"We!" Brenen muttered. "I cannot recall a we!"

"Have you indeed?" Albert said with interest. "Hand it over, barge-man. You know illegal profits cannot be kept."

Thorin banged a fist down. "Let us pass!"

"Oh, you will pass on," Albert sneered. "You will pass on right into jail!"

Thorin scowled at Brenen. "Do something, point-eared prince!"

Brenen gave a slight cough as he stepped past Bard. Albert recoiled. "Who are you?"

Brenen pointed to his crown. "Brenen Thranduilion. Really, Albert, your attitude amazes me. King Thranduil requested you send a barge to pick up cargo at the usual drop point. It is through your fault you assumed it would be barrels."

Bilbo cleared his throat at the thought of the chipped and broken barrels floating somewhere in the lake.

"Of course, we assumed they were barrels!" Albert huffed.

"And by making that assumption, you gave Bard the wrong pass," Brenen said, with a disarming smile. "Do you understand my meaning or is your skull too thick?"

Albert opened his mouth but Thorin cut him off. "Either you open this gate, greasebag, or his father—" he pointed to Brenen— "Will hear about it."

"King Thranduil's temper has not been good of late," Brenen said thoughtfully.

Albert took a step back and called down the waterway, "Raise the gate!"

Thorin sneered as the barge glided past the man. The waterway was wide, cut out between two board walkways. Bard kept his craft to one side, careful of the board edges.

"Drop us off at the Master's Square," Brenen directed. "As an afterthought, I would not mind strangling that man!"

"Many people would love to see Albert dead," Bard said grimly.

"Perhaps I will give you the pleasure of giving him what he deserves in the future," Thorin said.

"The Master will be in a fury for sure," Bard said gloomily.

"I will deal with him," Brenen said briskly.

"That is why he will be in a fury," Bard agreed.

The boat cruised to a halt. Directly ahead was a long house, weather-beaten and greyed but the most imposing structure in Laketown.

"Follow the walkway up and you will find yourself at the door," Bard said, pointing.

The dwarves abandoned the boat, clustering onto the planks while the townspeople looked on with curious eyes. Brenen turned to Bard. "Will you not come with us?"

Bard shook his head. "I have business elsewhere."

Thorin strode toward the Master's house as Bard guided his vessel away. The townspeople parted like water at his face and, by the time Thorin arrived at the Master's door, the square behind him was packed with men.

A long porch ran down the front of the house, its roof supported by tall pillars. A flight of steps ran up to the double doors. The second story of the porch rose above the porch roof; a row of windows facing outward.

The doors flew open and the Master of Laketown appeared, a red and purple dressing gown around his considerable form. Pudgy fingers found themselves choked with glittering rings while a mass of gold chains weighed down their wearer's neck. Stringy hair hung around a bald spot on his head while beady eyes glared out of his round face.

"Who dares invade my town?" The Master's double chins quivered with indignation.

Albert glided into view behind the Master, a black ghost of a shadow as he pointed to Thorin. "Dwarves, sire, and a supposed Thranduilion."

The Master jerked upright. "A supposed Thranduilion?" He grabbed the front of Albert's robe. "And what if he turns out to be real, aye? Do you know what will happen to us?"

Albert brushed off his robe. "My apologies, sire, I only thought it best to voice my suspicions. After all, anyone can wear a few twigs and call himself a Thranduilion. We have never seen him before."

Thorin strode to the bottom of the steps. "It is a sad day, this. I find the once proud people of Laketown reduced to this poverty stricken— "he eyed the Master's tummy—"state. I knew a time when your ancestors, the people of Dale, lived in wealth and their horns sounded with joyous notes through the land! I knew a time when you were proud, when your warriors were skilled, when gold flowed from the Mountain!"

"Those were good times," the Master said, with a sigh.

"They are not lost!" Thorin declared. "I, Thorin Oakenshield, have come to reclaim my homeland. I come to restore your honor, your pride, your wealth! I come to restore your rightful place in Dale."

As the crowd listened with eyes wide with dreams and a shadow leeched from their worn faces, Bard pushed his way into the square and faced Thorin.

"You come to bring us doom, Thorin Oakenshield!" Bard shouted. "Have you forgotten the prophecy? Within that mountain lies a dragon!"

"But the prophecy also foretells over rivers running with gold," Albert sneered. "You are being very selective in your recollection of the text, bargeman."

"But at what price of innocent blood?" Bard cried. "If awakened, the dragon will lay waste to us, as it once laid waste to Dale. It can only be slain by a Black Arrow, and we have none. Gidion, Lord of Dale, fired the last ones in existence when Dale fell years ago."

"You forget your place, bargeman," the Master snapped. "The dragon is most likely a pile of bones after all this time. One more word and I will have you arrested. Gidion, your ancestor, was a failure!"

"We need no Black Arrow," Thorin said. He faced Bard. "We have brought our own dragonfire."

Bard frowned. "I hope you do not jest."

On cue, Brenen swept out a hand. A globe of fire surrounded him before sweeping up into a curling spiral above his head. It drove back shadows as it formed into a flowing lotus, each petal unfolding into a shower of sparks with Brenen's fingers as they opened.

With the heat hot on his face, Brenen said, "Long have you heard whispered legends of the powers of Mirkwood's elves; whispers of the power to bend the elements. I now prove the rumors true!"

Thorin indicated the blazing lotus. "Smaug stands no chance against this; he can battle Smaug on even ground."

As the people of Laketown stared at the glowing flower, snowflakes fell softly through the firelight and created a thin blanket across the ground. Brenen said, "While I doubt, I am enough to take down Smaug, Thorin Oakenshield too glows with the power of summer's most terrible storm. Against this, no dragon stands no chance."

Thorin grunted in a deep breath and thrust his hands to the sky. A bolt of blue lit up the night, turning the firelight purple as it traveled to the stars and exploded into a shower of sparks.

Brenen let the flower's petals unfold one last time before he banished the fire with the drop of his hand. "When the prophecy was written, benders had been hidden so long, their powers were not taken into consideration."

"Why did no bender come at the coming of Smaug?" Bard demanded. "This strife and sorrow could have been avoided if they had."

"The regrets of the past will not now shape the future," Brenen answered. "But at least you can rest in peace knowing that Thorin's quest is in good hands."

"I am far from rest!" Bard exclaimed. "For a dragon is not to be taken lightly, even with your powers. It is not wise to place the fate of our town in your hands; the hands of strangers."

"And may it be you do not regret it," Kili said.

The Master, his eyes betraying the gold on his mind, opened his arms and declared, "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain, we welcome you! Take what you need of us and go with our blessings to slay the dragon and reclaim your homeland. May the light of your power never die and may you succeed!"

A corner of Thorin's lip smirked into his beard. "Thank you. I will not disappoint your faith in me.

* * *

**This chapter comes from the desert sands of Tucson! Here, fall has no meaning and little lizards say good morning. **

**Thank you for your kind sharing of thoughts and comments! I learn so much through your eyes. **

**Next Chapter: Realn disappears. **


	6. Travelers Alone

Mykar tapped lightly on the door of his parent's chamber. He felt a flash of guilt for intruding as Thranduil and Cinwe broke apart their kiss.

"Forgive me for interrupting," Mykar apologized. "But I had no choice as the matter is urgent. I am afraid Realn is gone."

"Gone?" Cinwe wondered. "Gone where?"

Mykar licked his lips as he held up a piece of paper and read aloud, glancing up at his parents with worried eyes.

"_Dear Mykar,_

_"This is for your eyes alone as I know ada and nana will neither understand or approve. I hope they will forgive me when I return and forget hate and anger. I will miss and love them, but I must trust my own heart, no matter the cost of my actions. _

_"I have set out to prove to ada and, more importantly, myself that my anger attacks do not make me inferior or unfit to be on my own. Ada seems to think it is so and I am afraid it is true, but I have to be sure, and the only way to truly know is to test it for myself. Most likely, I will follow Brenen. _

_"Oh, Mykar, even as I write this, I am terrified of the path ahead, of being alive without you all there with me. If I live and return, I am so afraid I will not be welcome. _

_"I will be thinking of you as I go forth and hope I shall return alive though I wonder if I would rather die than face our parents. Without the blessings ada and nana gave to Brenen, I feel small and afraid knowing I am not believed in. _

_"I do not wish to be searched for, little brother. No matter how much you may worry, you have to let me go. I am almost sure my plea will not stay you when your heart aches too much but at least the time of your hesitance will give me time to put distance between me and home._

_Love, Realn."_

Cinwe collapsed in an armchair, her face turning as white as her dress. Mykar reached for Thranduil's hand. "I know my brother and I am sorry to see he does not know you. I wait to tell you since I felt bad about breaking his trust in me but Realn knew I would and I know I have done the right thing."

Cinwe twisted her hands. "How could we not believe in him? We rejected him, Thranduil. Without so much as knowing it, we rejected him! See now what we have done!"

Thranduil patted Mykar's back. "You have done the right thing. I know Realn understands."

"Legolas knows," Mykar said. "Realn left him a letter as well. We—we discussed it before I came to you."

Thranduil paced the room. "What to do? Do we honor Realn's wish and let him go? Do we send a party of elves after him and let our actions say we do not believe in him?"

"Oh, he could die!" Cinwe protested.

"But he is not a child any longer," Thranduil said softly. "We must accept that he is an adult, able to care for himself. He needs our belief in him more than anything now and I say we let him go. He will find his brother, fulfill the needs of his heart, and come back to us stronger."

"Or not at all," Cinwe whispered. "But you are right; we need to let him go."

"Thank you," Mykar breathed. "I knew you would understand; both of you."

Cinwe smiled. Mykar added, "Oh! It nearly slipped my mind; Tauriel has been gone a day without any word."

"Valar!" Thranduil groaned. "The Kingdom falls apart! Send a party after her; she has no bending and trailing after the dwarf who has stolen her heart, according to Brenen, may be fatal. I will not see elven lives lost."

"There may be no need," Mykar said. "She will be quite safe in the company of Thorin."

"Send five elves after her regardless," Thranduil said. "The least they can do is bring back news of how Thorin's quest progresses. That is all I care for."

"It shall be done," Mykar said.

Thranduil shooed him to the door. "Now out! You interrupted my wife and I."

* * *

Realn leaned his head against a tree and gave breath to a slight groan. He had left home to prove his anger did not make him unfit for adventure but now he wished he had stayed home instead of rushing off in a fit of emotion. He could not return now and admit defeat; the shame would be too great to bear.

Around him, Mirkwood lay in the afternoon sun, the rays penetrating the gloom around him. He was far from the palace, deep in spider territory but it was not fear that brought doubt to his heart. The burned corpses of a dozen spiders lay around him, surrounded by the faint lines of torched webbing.

Realn pushed himself upright and began to walk, wondering if perhaps he should have followed Brenen. But some urge had drawn him toward Dol Guldor instead.

"Realn?"

Realn swung around, his body sliding onto a defensive stance. He glanced around, his hands outstretched, until his eyes fell upon a red-haired elf and he relaxed.

"Muinda Raileen!" Realn sighed. "You startled me."

"What are you doing here alone and so far from home?" Raileen asked, shaking back his mane of glossy hair, dark eyes questioning.

Realn opened his mouth but shut it as a stranger emerged from the trees and joined Raileen. Where Raileen was dressed in a neat green tunic styled like a coat and buttoned down the center, the stranger was human and robed in grey. He wore a pointed hat and his face was lined with wisdom.

"This is Gandalf the Grey," Raileen said. "Ellhamier and I rescued him from an untimely end at Dol Guldor as we passed through. We are on our way to Thranduil."

Ellhamier came to Realn's side with a chuckle, his dark eyes snapping and his hair as wild as ever. "One does not simply pass through Dol Guldor unless you happen to be us and have express tickets."

Realn pushed him. "Shut up. Just because I have to stay at home while you two trapeze the world is no reason to hold it over me."

Ellhamier scrutinized his face before demanding, "Spill the secret!"

"Brenen is with Thorin Oakenshield on his quest to reclaim Erebor," Realn said, his shoulders slumping. "I wish to accompany them but ada—ada said my emotional attacks—my instability—made me a danger to everyone. I ran away to prove him wrong . . ."

Raileen's tongue clucked in sympathy. "Oh Realn! It is not too late to come home."

"It is," Realn said sadly.

"Are you afraid of facing a seething Thranduil?" Ellhamier inquired. He made a gesture. "When Thranduil explodes at me, I shove dirt in his mouth."

"If I return home, I admit defeat to myself," Realn explained slowly. "And I cannot admit ada and nana are right. I do not want to be unfit to be on my own. I have to show them they can believe and trust in me as much as Brenen."

"You intend to stay on alone?" Gandalf asked. He urged, "Pray seek out the dwarves and join them. I sense they could use your powers. It is best not to waste your life in Dol Guldor when you are needed elsewhere."

Realn grinned. "Find Brenen I will. Not because I need his help but because I need his company. I know at least my own brother will not turn me away."

Raileen put a hand on his shoulder. "Brenen needs you as much as you need him."

Realn leaned forward to give Raileen a hug. "Thank you, muinda. Tell ada where I am going. Tell him, no matter how he feels about me, I will always love him."

"When you find Thorin," Gandalf said. "Tell him to beware the magic of the Arkenstone. Tell him to keep an open mind."

Realn nodded. With that last gesture, he left the forest floor, surfing the fire spilling from his hands as it carried him aloft until he disappeared through the canopy of leaves.

"Wizards!" Ellhamier yelled after him. "There is nothing like them!"

_**Thank you kindly for reading, beautiful souls! Any thoughts to share?**_

_**Next Chapter: Raileen must face the ghosts of his past. **_


	7. Blue Moon

"I have encountered few benders in my time," Gandalf said, as he resumed walking. "I believed you to almost be a myth."

Realn smiled, his mind on other matters. He did not hear Ellhamier's reply but knew it to be sarcastic. The trio encountered no spiders and stopped at dusk to camp. Two days later they reached the palace.

The guards on duty greeted Ellhamier and Raileen with grins. "Ellhamier! Raileen! It has been so long since you last visited, we were prepared to take you for dead."

Ellhamier waggled his eyebrows. "We thought we might find some orcs to kill if we came home to murky waters. Is darling Thranduil in?"

One guard chuckled and jerked a finger behind him. "You will find darling Thranduil within."

Ellhamier breezed past him. "Marvelous! Time to reunite over a jolly cup of wine."

Thranduil was found pacing around his throne, hands behind his back and a frown staring at the floor. He nodded a brief greeting.

"We know about Realn," Raileen said.

Thranduil halted. "How?"

"We met him leaving Dol Guldor," Raileen answered. "We sent him after Brenen but could not persuade him to come home."

Thranduil sighed and crumpled into his throne. "I am grateful he will have his brother with him, at the least."

"He says to tell you no matter how you feel, he still loves you," Ellhamier added.

Thranduil smiled. "I know. Cinwe and I came to an agreement several nights ago. Thank you for passing on the message."

Ellhamier steepled his fingers. "Actually, I told you in the hopes of being rewarded with a hefty cup of wine."

"You have not changed," Thranduil remarked. "Hop down to the cellars; I am certain you will be remembered and served."

Ellhamier grinned. "It is hard to forget a charming elf like me."

As he disappeared down the stairs, Thranduil addressed Gandalf. "Mithrandir. I wondered why you did not make an appearance with Thorin. Family matters aside, what brings you here?"

"Thorin will need your aid," Gandalf said. "The orcs of Dol Guldor and Dunabad are on the move, and they want Erebor. If they take it and turn it into a stronghold, this part of the world will be overrun."

"Typical," Thranduil said, with a wry smile. "You have come to encourage me to enter into war."

"Indeed!" said Gandalf. "As you should."

Thranduil straightened. "Though it is written across your face you believe I am a coward, that rumor is far from true. I will venture forth to battle in my own time."

"You are needed now," Gandalf urged. "Leave as soon as possible for it takes time to reach Erebor, more so with an army tagging along.

"We must give you a few days to rest," Thranduil replied.

"I admit I need it," Gandalf replied wearily.

Raileen looked up, his face as determined as Gandalf's was tired. "Thranduil, while in Dol Guldor, I encountered one who claims to be the Necromancer. While others may be deceived, a father cannot deceive his son. It is Sauron."

Gandalf started.

"The time has come for me to lay my fear aside and face him," Raileen said.

"He cannot be killed," Thranduil warned.

"He is my father," Raileen snapped. "I know that. But I can drive him back better than anyone and send him to the shadows where he belongs before he brings about more harm."

"Sauron is not an easy enemy, even if he is your father. Take Ellhamier with you."

"No," Raileen said. "This is my fight and I go alone."

Thranduil stood. "Raileen, you are my friend. I cannot let you die."

"That is why you have to trust me," Raileen said softly. "I have to face my father alone."

Thranduil sat. "Go, if you must, and come back. You will be in my thoughts every night."

"That thought will be what brings me back."

Thranduil strode down to give Raileen a hug. Raileen rested his chin on Thranduil's shoulder, his eyes full of the future, before he stepped back. With a smile wavering on his lips, he stepped off the edge of the platform and a gust of wind whirled him away.

Gandalf grabbed Thranduil's arm. "You fool! You let the son of Sauron run to his father's embrace when you could have ended it all! Who knows what evil they will unleash together."

Thranduil wrenched his arm free and spun to face Gandalf. "Raileen is my friend of many years; a brother in all but blood! I will not hear you speak of him like he is a traitor."

Gandalf opened his mouth but Thranduil sliced his words in half. "Go rest, Mithrandir, for you are tired and your strength as well as your wisdom failing. We leave in three days for Erebor!"

* * *

Thorin glanced behind him as Laketown receded into the mist. The boat he and his companions were in sailed out toward the far shore, as Erebor's promised tips grew closer. Thorin stood at the helm, feeling the wind ripple through him, his face lifted toward his homeland.

And as he sailed toward the future, he left the past doomed to the present.

The boat ground against shore by the time the sun set behind the tall peaks rising to hide Erebor. Thorin strode forward, determined to conqueror the rise and lay eyes on his homeland even if he must walk until dawn.

It was not long before his strength waned, and he grudgingly agreed to make camp for the night. As fresh meat was brought forth, he watched Brenen sing a fire to life from nothing but rock and dirt.

Brenen caught sight of his face and, as he leaned back on his hands, he said, "It is best to explore your bending as soon as possible. While the meat cooks, let us see where the storm lies in you."

He hopped to his feet and retreated to an open space on the mountainside, gesturing for Thorin to join him. As the dwarves clustered to watch, eyes more on him than the food, Thorin faced Brenen.

"Taking a moment to show off?" he growled, observing the smirk on Brenen's face.

The elf chuckled before he held a palm facing toward the ground. "There is energy in us all, Thorin Oakenshield. Some of us are able to harness it and transform it through the sheer power of our wills alone and our innate connection to the elements. Find your storm. Let the energy burn and rage. Let it _fight _but, in the end, befriend it. As you show your fangs and extend your friendship, find a tendril and hold it tight as you might a whip."

As he spoke Brenen closed his eyes and drew his hand back. Thorin felt the air grow hotter even with his eyes closed.

"Bring the energy into physical being. Move your body as you become an extension of the bending. You are one with it; of one soul, one mind, and one body. Move as you would if you were a flickering flame or one with a fork of lightning as it crashes, with a shriek of freedom, to the ground!"

The fire exploded to life at Brenen's hands. The flickering pushed at the inside of Thorin's eyelids. He snapped his eyes open to meet Brenen's as his own bending burst to life and a fork of lightning rent the air before him, pulsing from his palm. Brenen's eyes met his, singing and free, envy having no part of his dance.

"Now that you have found your well," he cried, "Move with the energy! Take it where you wish it to go. The potential is endless and your strength only as much as you can give. Go!"

Thorin narrowed his eyes as the elf turned on limber feet, remembering the flower Brenen had created in Laketown. Even now the elf whirled in the midst of a dozen ever glowing runes as the shapes unfolded around him, creating a globe rippling from pure energy.

"You must be free," Brenen said. "There is no room for envy, only growth."

Thorin growled as the flames in Brenen's palm lent an orange glow to the elf's pale face. He danced away, prancing on light feet with the globe of shifting flame around him.

Thorin planted his feet in the ground as a surge within him threatened to send him flying. Blue light joined the red, turning it purple, as a sizzling lightning bolt breathed into being in the sky over Thorin's head. The gathered dwarves let out a gasp and Thorin smiled.

Brenen grinned, turning to face the dwarf. Thorin snatched for the energy flickering in the sky and grasped it, bringing the blue fire to rest in his palm. He closed his eyes and envisioned the points in the air, linking them to him as the blue spread, catching him in a globe of endless points all linking back to him at the center.

"Befriend it!" Brenen cried. "It is your heart, your life, your focus. It is your soul, your body, your mind! It is you, radiated outward in a physical form. It is you, as you were before you had a soul."

_Oh, shut up_, Thorin thought. _I never heard such rubbish_.

Brenen twinkled at him, as if guessing the thought his eyes betrayed, and threw himself back into his dance. This time Thorin followed, his blue light clashing with the red. The energy moved with more ease as he learned to follow its rhymes, moving with instead of against it. Even as his strength flowed out, Thorin could feel it rebuilding. He built a vine, each new leaf uncurling with a vibrant pop.

Brenen threw an eagle into the sky and let it fly, sparks flying in its wake before dying into the night.

Thorin cast a serpent, his fingers curling as the snake uncoiled, each old coil replaced by a new as it unwrapped itself endlessly, each scale intricate with tiny details.

Brenen wove a fish, not nearly as feared but as beautiful as its scales rippled under the pressure of invisible water.

Thorin clenched his fists as he thought of his homeland and, unbidden, his fury leapt into the air, taking on the form of a blue dragon.

The dwarves leapt for their weapons as the creature unfolded its wings, flinging back its head to scream fire to the sky. As it appeared, it died and left Thorin standing in a puddle of smoke as Brenen banished the heat with his palm and joined him.

"It takes practice," he said. "Often bending takes on the form of our greatest fears and dreams."

"Hmp," said Thorin. "Let us stuff your face with meat before you burn any more rubbish."

_**And so it goes with Thorin's first lesson in bending. To become one with his element is a task, even for him. May he have a good teacher!**_

_**Thank you for your inspiring comments, your visions of the future, and your encouragement to make Dragonfire even more unique! **_

_**Next Chapter: The Silver Lady speaks. **_


	8. Lonely Heart

Bard finished spooning down his supper, thinking of Thorin climbing the peaks toward Erebor with a knot in the pit of his stomach that made it hard to enjoy the warm food. Pushing back his chair, he went to stand outside the house, drawing in breaths of air that could have been fresher.

He let out a cry as an oily body dropped down in front of him, thick limbs clad in poorly cut animal skins and crisscrossed with weapons. He flung himself back and slammed the door on the orc, grabbing for the nearest thing he could use as a weapon.

As the orc burst through the door, it jerked and fell on its face. Bard looked up to meet the eyes of the slender she-elf holding her bloodied knife.

"I am Tauriel," she said. "I am told you know of the whereabouts of Thorin."

"He and his company departed for Erebor this morning," Bard replied. "What business have you with them?"

Tauriel smiled and replied, "More orcs are coming. They seek the dwarves and your house crawls with the scent. Bar yourself inside."

Bard heard a scream behind him and whirled, his children's names on his lips. Through a hole hacked into his ceiling, orcs were dropping through like rain, overturning the table and chairs.

Tauriel darted past him, her lithe body diving into the midst of the orcs as she moved in the throes of an elusive dance, leaving a trail of bodies behind her. Bard slammed and locked the door and hefted the oar he had caught up.

As the last orc fell, Tauriel crouched on the roof. Her eyes picked out and counted the dark shadows climbing the shingles of the houses around her before she shook her head and dropped to the floor. "There are too many of them."

Bard groaned. "I knew I made a mistake the moment I took that cursed pouch of gold."

Tauriel drew in a sharp breath and pointed to the sky. "Perhaps it was not a mistake but a blessing."

The roof did not even quake as the figure landed lightly on it. A blonde head peered through the hole and Bard exclaimed, "Brenen? I thought you accompanied Thorin?"

"My lord Realn," Tauriel said with a bow.

The elf lacked Brenen's flashing smile and his obvious lack of confidence did not convince Bard when he said, "I will take care of the orcs, Tauriel. Stay here in case you are needed."

His head disappeared. Bard heard running feet and silence as the elf jumped. He crossed to the window and peered out. Realn had landed on a narrow plank bridging the lake's water. He swayed as the orcs walked, shaking the wood but did not shudder as he was encircled by creatures smelling of swamp. An unearthly chuckle arose from the orcs as they trapped the elf, closing on him like a net.

"Sake's alive, he is dead," Bard muttered.

His words died on his lips as he glimpsed orange and then a blast echoed and burned flesh was hurled back. Those who were lucky sank into the lake's water and drowned. Those who were unlucky died screaming, engulfed in flames as Realn guided the fire, feeding its flames and encouraging the heat until the air had been purified.

Realn closed his hands into fists, turning the valve on the flames, and dusk returned as the orange glow diminished. He raised his eyes from the ground, and they snapped to lock onto the shadow of a figure disappearing over a rooftop. He hesitated, wandering if the orc were worth it. After a moment, he shook his head and approached Bard's door.

"Thank you for your protection," Bard said. "My home is open to you."

The elf smiled. "I was glad to be of help." As Tauriel peeked past the man, he added, "Do you intend to follow your dwarf to Erebor?"

Tauriel flushed. "He is not my dwarf, Prince Realn, and his name is Kili."

Realn lowered himself into a bow. "A million apologies."

"However, I do intend to journey to Erebor," Tauriel said, with a slight cough.

"I will take you across the lake, but I cannot accompany you. I must stay here to protect the people of Laketown if Smaug reaches it unslain."

"Would it not be advisable to add your strength to Thorin and Brenen's so as to prevent Smaug from reaching this far to begin with?" Tauriel asked.

Realn hesitated before shaking his head. "No, I will stay here. If Smaug comes, I will contribute my fire. If not, I trust Brenen and Thorin to handle the situation."

He nodded to Bard and gave his arm to Tauriel, strolling toward an empty stretch of dock. Bard stood, his arms around his eldest daughter and son and watched the elves venture forth. A streak of fire, reminiscent of a shooting star, marked Realn's path toward Erebor and the far side of the lake.

* * *

"Durin's Day nears an end!" Thorin spat, swinging his arms as he stared at the sky, willing the sun to travel backwards. "We have failed!"

From high above, on the rocks above the mountain's side, Bilbo's thin wail swept past them on the wind. "Thorin! Kili! Everyone! Come quickly."

Thorin snorted, "Foolish hobbit!" but something in Bilbo's tone turned his feet back the way he had come as he hurried up the rocky path, his heart in his throat. He stumbled out onto a narrow ledge carved into the mountain's side, surrounded on three sides by sheer walls of rock.

"What have you found, Master Baggin's?" Thorin gasped, leaning his hands on his knees.

"This seems to be the place," Bilbo said. "I should imagine anyone with half a brain would place a secret door in a place like this."

The dwarves clustered on the ledge, examining the stone, fingernails searching until and thin crack running in a rectangle was uncovered. Every attempt to uncover a keyhole was made to no avail. Panicked by the setting sun, the dwarves hurled themselves at the stone, screaming and grunting as Thorin bellowed and pounded it with a lightning bolt.

The dwarven door stood fast and unscathed.

"Push harder!" Thorin shrieked. "Open it!"

"It is no use, lad," Balin sighed, coming to his side. "You know as well as I dwarven doors can only be opened by the way they were fastened."

As the last ray of sun sank, a long groan rose from the dwarves. Thorin bowed his head before he ripped the key from around his neck. "I have failed you. I led you through peril and hardship, toiled through fire and earth for this, only to meet a barred door."

He flung the key away and, slowly, the dwarves filed off the ledge. Bilbo watched them go, his brow furrowed. He felt Thorin's despair deeply and pitied the sad end of the adventure. Above him, Brenen stood on the mountain's crest and watched the world. Bilbo noticed he was looking homeward.

"Thinking of home?" he asked.

Brenen looked down and smiled. "Not quite missing it but I think of ada and nana watching the moon rise in their wine cups."

Bilbo started. Brenen cocked his head. "You do not drink? I apologize."

The stars were showing through the thin veil of night as the colors of dusk faded. The moon flung off her blankets and rose from her bed to step into the sky.

"I love some white wine with my fish," Bilbo said truthfully.

Brenen looked up again. "The Silver Lady is beautiful tonight."

As the white orb rose higher from her velvet pillow, the moon rays crept over the locked door. And suddenly, the whispers in his mind made sense and he turned in flustered circles, unable to put his thoughts together. The key—Thorin—the moon!

"Thorin! The Silver Lady! Look at her! She is the last light of Durin's Day! The moon! The moon!"

One job accomplished, he scrambled for the key. His furry foot knocked it toward the edge of the ledge, and he dove for it, landing at Thorin's feet as the dwarf's heavy boot clamped down, just missing the leather throng. The key plummeted toward an uncertain destination.

Thorin's swearing colored the night until a flash of heat hit his face and he clamped his mouth down on a hopeful breath.

Slow and graceful Brenen dove, another glowing star in the night. His fingers curled over the leather as he righted himself and soared to join Thorin, presenting the key with a bow. Thorin snorted at the elf's smug face and snatched it.

Thorin met Bilbo's eyes as he strode to the secret door. Flakes of rock fell away, revealing the keyhole. It received the key with a grunt as Thorin twisted to the sound of a rumbling click. The door scraped back, opening a gaping hole into the mountain. In silence the dwarves breathed in the smell of home.

"Ah, Master Baggin's," Thorin exclaimed. "Yet again I underestimate you! Thinking you were yelling about an illusion of a woman; you saw light where I saw none."

"It was nothing really," Bilbo squeaked, disappearing in a hug.

Thorin released him and faced the gaping hole. Brenen twirled his fingers. "Shall I shoot a jet of flame down there?"

Thorin slapped his hand. "Are you mad? Do you want to bring the dragon straight out at us? Be quiet and do not do anything foolish while I think!"

* * *

**And think he must . . . **

**Thank you so much for reading! It is easy to forget little daily worries when your words make me smile. **

**Next Chapter: The Arkenstone goes on an adventure. **


	9. Fate's Hand

"It is simple really," Oin said. "We send the burglar in to see if there is a dragon down below."

"Oh, but I say!" Bilbo exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Why me, I should like to know?"

"You are the burglar," Thorin said. "This is what you came for."

"You crept into Mirkwood's halls," Bombur said. "How much harder can this be?"

Bilbo thrust his finger toward the ground. "In Mirkwood's halls there was not a dragon down below!"

Thorin put an arm around Bilbo's shoulders and guided him toward the open door. "Come now, Master Baggins, Smaug is surely nothing but a pile of bones by now! Nothing to worry about; nothing at all. All you need concern yourself with is seeking the Arkenstone. You will know it when you see it."

"But," Bilbo said, as he was thrust into the cold interior of the mountain.

Balin accompanied him until the passage forked and Thorin's anxious face could not be seen. He patted the hobbit on the back. "Be careful, laddie."

As the hobbit took a few steps forward, Balin added, "And, ah, lad . . . if there is a dragon down there . . . be careful."

Bilbo nodded. The darkness swallowed Balin as he plunged into the gloom ahead. He glanced behind him as he slid his hand into his pocket and slipped the cool band of metal awaiting him over his finger.

His feet were soft against the stone as he went, his careful progress bringing him out at the top of a flight of stairs. He inched down until he stepped onto the landing and grasped the railing to keep his balance as the sheer power of the gold before him threatened to overwhelm him.

The hall rested in shadows; the ceiling supported by pillars of unguessable heights. The floor disappeared under a sea of gold, the waves of hidden depth. Coins made the majority of the hoard but gems and jewel-encrusted goblets, dull breastplates and weapons swam in the sea, accompanied by crowns and circlets, brooches and glorified rings.

Bilbo descended until the stairs disappeared and his feet met gold. With the first step, he slid, coins cascading around him as his weight caused the ocean to move, casting up echoes of tinkling metal. He stirred up the coins, despairing as jewels ran through his hands of finding the Arkenstone. One might waste a lifetime searching and never find it.

He crawled on his hands and knees, holding up fist-sized gem after fist-sized gem only to shake his head and discard it. He slapped his fist against the gold in frustration as he stared out at the long hall before him.

The hobbit blinked as he heard the coins shift behind him and turned to stare into a blue and gold streaked eye. The floor heaved and bucked and took bilbo with it as it cascaded down. Hard red scales rose up, the glittering blanket sliding off Smaug as the dragon raised his head from his pillow. His serpentine body uncoiled. Legs as thick as pillars supported him as he rose, neck touching the ceiling and nostrils snorting smoke. He stretched his wings before folding the leathery lengths.

Smoke wafted as he growled, "Who dares enter my mountain?"

Bilbo scrambled back and grabbed a hold of a stone poking out of the sea. He pulled himself onto a small surface of platform and peeked around the short pillar holding up the square roof above him, turning in bewildering circles as the dragon's body spiraled around him.

Smaug's face wound around the corner and sniffed the air directly in front of Bilbo's face. "Hmm. I smell you, little thief. I do not know your smell but the scent on you I recognize . . . come out and I will be merciful."

Bilbo's heart banged against his lips, clenching his jaw as the smoke rolling onto his face threatened to make him cough. Remembering his cloak of invisibility, he dashed from the stone dais.

Smaug roared, flinging up gold as he shot forward, his tail cracking pillars. "I smell a treasure upon you, thief!"

It occurred to Bilbo as he tumbled that, if he lost the ring in here, he would never find it again. Cold fear gripped his throat as he held onto the hand bearing the ring. Lest it slip free and disappear, he dug his feet into the gold and slid to a halt, pocketing the ring and buttoning it securely in.

As he flashed into view, Smaug swept down on him. Bilbo fled, the floor shifting beneath his feet.

"How dare you enter?" Smaug spat. "I admire your skill and so shall give you a quick ending but an ending it will be none the less. None leave my realm!"

Bilbo scrambled toward the landing he had descended. In hopes of deterring the dragon long enough to reach safety, he caught up handfuls of gold and gems as he passed, flinging them over his shoulder. They bounced off the dragon's hide. He slipped sideways, his fingers plunging into the gold to grasp a smooth object. He scrabbled up the steps to the landing and turned to hurl the stone at Smaug's nearing eye. He lobbed the rock, catching glimpses of crystal and liquid gold.

Smaug's maw stretched wide to spew fire as Bilbo fled back up the tunnel he had come from. The gem sailed into the dragon's mouth and slid down his throat into the volcano of his belly.

Bilbo banged into the wall as Thorin shoved past him. The dwarf plowed into the railing as Smaug's mouth closed over the Arkenstone and howled. His screams eclipsed the dragon's roars.

Smaug shook his head with a grunt, clearing his throat, before his mouth yawned open again. Raging fire boiled toward Thorin but the dwarf had his head on the railing, shoulders slumped in grief.

Brenen leapt out behind Thorin and held out a hand as the heat hit his face. The fire fought against his wall, forced into an orb that left elf and dwarf untouched. He lifted the orb and hurled it back at its creator. Smaug spat as the fire crashed against his side.

Brenen dragged Thorin back into the tunnel as the dragon hissed, "I will kill you, little bender!"

Thorin grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders and shook him. "You fool!" he shouted. "You fed the King's Jewel to Smaug!"

Bilbo's teeth rattled. The Arkenstone? Had he really done that? He had . . . come to think of it, he had . . .

"I am going to kill you!" Thorin shouted.

"It may still be whole in the dragon's stomach," Balin advised, putting a hand on Thorin's arm. "Come now, lad, the Arkenstone is an artifact of great power. We can cut it from the beast's stomach."

Thorin spun to face the mouth of the tunnel. "I will kill Smaug."

"That is the spirit!" Dwalin cheered.

Brenen was a shadow against the mouth of the tunnel, both hands out before him. Fire raced in a liquid wall before him as Smaug breathed his anger against the elf's bending. Though he held back the flames, the boiling heat still stifled the tunnel.

He glanced back at Thorin. As the dwarf gave a slight nod, Brenen cast himself through the fire, parting it with his fingers. He leapt into the air past Smaug's head, taking the dragon's breath with him.

As the tunnel cleared, the dwarves spilled onto the landing, brought to a momentary halt by the sight of the wealth before them. Recovering their breath, they scattered.

"Have we a plan, lad?" Balin panted.

Thorin thought of Thranduil's insufferable face as he mimicked the elf king's smirk. "Why, yes, my dear Balin. Smaug will die at the end of a lightning bolt!"

He thought of the Arkenstone sailing into the dragon's mouth as his eyes flashed blue. He thrust out a hand, ignorant of Brenen hovering near Smaug's angry head, and a sizzling bolt of blue shot from his palm. It slithered past Smaug's nose as he recoiled and smashed a crack into the far wall.

Brenen wavered, thrown back by the passing force of the bolt before he recovered his balance by a near pillar.

Thorin growled as Smaug whirled on him. Fili shoved him. "Shoot him!"

Thorin hurled another bolt behind him, mindful of it as Smaug roared with its impact on his tail. "Head for the forges! If lightning is not enough to sear this beast black, we will need more than I can give."

Bilbo grabbed Thorin's arm. "Laketown, Thorin! You must keep Smaug from there; the people do not deserve to suffer for this."

"Laketown," spat the dragon, as the dwarves scrambled for steps and bridges, calling upon their memories to guide them.

Brenen ducked into the dragon's vision. Thorin thought he must resemble a flea to the beast as Brenen teased, "Ho, beast, come kill the bender as you boasted; come slay Prince Brenen Thranduilion! Or are you too withered to match the vitality of youth?"

Smaug snarled, his angry breath hammering the now empty landing. Pillars collapsed behind him as he rushed the elf, long claws outstretched to gut him. Avoiding fallen rock with a single swerve, Brenen dashed into the gloom-filled hall with Smaug at his heels.

"Idiot elf!" Thorin bellowed. "You are leading him away from the forges!"

Brenen twisted as he flew overhead, his limber body zigzagging to avoid the dragon and shouted back, "I do not know the way!"

Thorin flung up his hands as he sprinted across the bridge, Smaug's tail inches above his head. The beast dove low after Brenen as Thorin snapped, "Must I do everything? Follow me and keep back that infernal fire!"

Brenen ducked under Thorin's lightning bolt as it forced Smaug's head aside. A rush of flame torched the stone to his right. Thorin grabbed his arm and hauled him across the floor, past the last few scattered gold coins and deeper into the mountain.

* * *

**Oo, things are happening! **

**Have a Happy Thanksgiving Day! You are all part of my acknowledgement of the amazing things I have in my life this day. What are you thankful for?**

**Next Chapter: Can the Arkenstone be recovered? **


	10. Dandelion

Thorin skidded to a halt as he tore through a row of pillars. A thick blanket of dust and cobwebs covered the forges; those great stands where once his people had created their legacy. Hardened liquid gold was frozen in the troughs cut into the floor, built through the ceilings and across the hall. He remembered the panic, the chaos, when his people were torn from their life's work. He remembered the gold rolling to a halt along with the lives of those he loved.

With the pain still fresh in his heart came a wave of fury. He was shattered but no more. Now was a time for vengeance.

"Light the forges!" Thorin bellowed, pressing his back to a pillar. He ascertained his companions were sheltered before he snapped, "Brenen, you young fool, stop with your hero act and let Smaug's fire come through!"

Brenen, standing between two pillars, a shadow against the angry fire built into a wall before him, nodded. He let his hand fall and, with his elf blood more apparent than ever, gracefully tumbled to shelter.

Fire rushed past Thorin, running in angry rivers past the pillars, ripping through the forges and bringing each age-old fire back to life. The gold shifted, the heat beginning to melt it even as the dwarves rushed to grasp the familiar handles of the bellows.

Brenen scowled. "I could have done as much, had you asked."

He whirled to halt Smaug's fire from reaching the unprotected dwarves, shoving it back into the dragon's mouth. Thorin snatched his arm. "No time to get into a snit. Follow me!"

Brenen sprinted to keep up with him, hopping the troughs rolling with liquid gold in the floor. He watched them empty into a single trough until the gold spilled away over a cliff and down into the top of a rock mold.

Thorin grunted and threw himself off the sheer drop, taking Brenen with him. the elf yelped, gasping as his jets flamed to life, fighting the extra weight of the dwarf.

"Valar, a tree trunk is lighter!" Brenen gasped.

"You shut up," Thorin growled. "You may be nothing but a wisp bound to float off at the slightest gust, but I will have you know what you are carrying is precious muscle. If you drop me, it will be more than your head!"

Brenen chuckled and deposited him on the shoulder of the rock mold. Thorin grabbed for a chain hanging near his head and held fast as Smaug swept over the high end of the cliff above him, splashing gold flecks with his wingbeats. He banked and came to land on the cold stone of the empty hall before the statue.

"And so, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, you end. And in the company of your company. How fitting."

Brenen tilted his head as Thorin glanced at him. The dwarves were gathered around him on the statue, balanced on the rock with chains in hand.

"I will kill you all!" Smaug roared. "I will burn Laketown and raze Mirkwood to the ground!"

Brenen's eyes flashed red. Thorin put a hand on his arm. Smaug drew his head back.

"Pull!" Thorin roared.

The rock mold strained and cracked as the dwarves put their muscle into straining against the chains they held. The metal bands holding the mold together snapped and the rocks tumbled down, cracking the floor as the dwarves scrambled to safety.

Smaug stood dwarfed by the glittering gold visage of Thror in full battle armor, clasping the axe he had beheaded many an orc with. He stood dwarfed, eyes wide, but only for a minute. No sooner had he hissed than a splash of gold wet his nose. A moment later the statue slid forward, rivers of liquid hold hitting him full in the face. As the hall flooded, the gold turned blue. Thorin's lightning bolt hurled Smaug back, forcing him underwater, dragging him down under the weight of the metal sliding over him.

Thorin raised his chin as the gold smoothened out over the floor, smiling at the thought of Smaug choked beneath it.

"I will walk these halls," Thorin said, placing a fist on his chest. "Treading the body of my old enemy. Never will I forget this day."

The dwarves cheered, quieting as Brenen frowned. The ecstasy was lost as the floor broke and Smaug came forth, no longer red but gold. The dragon laughed as he whipped through the air, disappearing to the sound of falling rock and the echo of his promise, "Laketown shall burn!"

"What have we done?" Bilbo cried.

"What is done is done," Thorin growled. He spun away from the hole Smaug has plunged into the mountainside in his flight to Laketown. "I want this mountain fortified; the hole blocked before the sun rises!"

Brenen lifted his chin. "I will not aid you. My aid is for the people of Laketown."

His eyes defied Thorin as he jumped and departed the hall, his flames a shooting star in the darkness as he soared in Smaug's wake.

"Wretched elf!" Thorin muttered. He fell silent as the quiet pressed in on him and glared at his companions. "What are you staring at?"

"You have to help them," Bilbo shouted, pointing after Brenen. "We unleashed a dragon on them. They do not deserve to be torn apart again. He may be a wretched elf but his heart is in the right place."

"This is not your fight, Master Baggins," Thorin replied. "Do not talk to me of morals. It is you who lost us the Arkenstone."

"It is in Smaug's belly, lad," Balin said. "Brenen cannot slay the beast on his own."

"Let him die then," Thorin said, jerking his arm away. "He will weaken the beast at least and I will take the kill. I never liked that elf anyway."

* * *

Realn looked up as he felt the wind send ripples through the murky water. He scanned the sky, a shadow of dread passing over his heart long before he saw the real shape of doom loom into sight, fire burning in his belly.

"Smaug," Realn breathed. A wave of panic hit him and his heart fluttered as he wondered if he was ready for this battle. His fingers shook, only steadying as he clutched the round orb in his hand. He squeezed the surface, cool despite the flame burning within, the pounding of his heart dying away into a steady beat. Throat dry, he swallowed.

With the first steps into his jog, he realized his legs felt like sticks. He called a warning to Bard as he leapt off the roof and let his fire carry him into the sky. He followed the beacon of Smaug's red breast, a wisp of a figure against the beast's growing shadow.

Smaug opened his mouth as he passed over Laketown, spewing forth fire. It crashed toward the vulnerable rooftops, licking the wood before it swooped upward to meet Realn's fingertips and vanish.

Smaug's head jerked up and narrowed upon Realn. His lips curled back as he banked, and his eyes stared straight through the elf's.

"You fly fast, little elf," he hissed. "But, no matter, I do not need stone halls to crush your toothpick form."

Realn steadied his breath. Down below him, people screamed and fled toward their boats as the shadow of Smaug blanketed the suddenly pathetic matchstick town.

* * *

Tauriel peered down the dark tunnel ahead, feeling the ground shake beneath her feet. She glanced behind her, able to see Laketown's dim lights from the ledge on the mountainside. The dwarves had come this way. She followed in their footsteps as she plunged into the mountain.

Her fingers tightened on her bow as she rounded a bend. The cold air grew warmer though the walls shook, and the floor threatened to crack beneath her. She stepped out onto a landing and descended steps.

The she-elf's eyes opened wide at the sea of gold she saw, reaching out past the edges of her vision. She waded through the coins, trailing her fingers over the jewels until she stood on empty stone. As she gazed around the hall, lost as to direction, her eye fell on a goblet, alive with gems. She picked it up. Following a sudden shout, she came upon the dwarves standing at a great hole in the mountainside, staring out at the sky.

"What has happened?" Tauriel demanded.

The dwarves whirled to look at her, only one echoing a gasp. She tried to ignore Kili's dark eyes as Thorin scowled.

"Another little thief," he said. "And one with hearts in mind instead of jewels."

He knocked the goblet out of her hand. Tauriel's brow narrowed.

"Smaug has attacked Laketown," Bilbo said. "And Thorin refuses to help."

Tauriel eyed the hobbit with interest before she scooped up the goblet from the floor and shook it at Thorin. "You know what it is like to lose home, family, everything. How can you want that for the people of Laketown? My Lord Brenen cannot defeat Smaug on his own. My King Thranduil trusted you with his son. Trust me when I say you do not want to betray that trust."

* * *

**It is done! Tauriel has spoken her mind, and Realn is battling to hold onto his. Will Thorin break another promise? **

**Are you busy with Christmas decorations while I am busy with ink? **

**Thank you all kindly for reading; I love the community you create.**

**Next Chapter: _"__A splash of red landed on Realn's hand; his brother's blood. "One down," said the dragon, smoking issuing in a line from his mouth. "One to go."_**


	11. Black Arrow

Realn felt tears pricking his eyes as he struggled to hold back Smaug's fire. It was everywhere; in houses, over rooftops, and burning bright from the dragon's mouth.

_I cannot do this! _Realn thought, tears drying on his cheeks in the heat. His anger at his own weakness built up unchecked.

"You cannot do this," Smaug hissed. "My claws will spill your blood into this lake. Come die, little elf."

"Realn! Muindor nin!"

Realn's head jerked up, searching. "Brenen?"

"Blessed valar, by what folly have you come?" Brenen cried, his face illuminated by the fire beneath his feet.

"Two of you!" Smaug spat. His tail whipped, hurling Brenen back as it hit him in the waste. A moment later the thick red coils snaked around the elf's waist and squeezed. As Brenen choked, blue coming to his lips, Smaug hurled him limp body to the dark embrace of the lake.

A splash of red landed on Realn's hand; his brother's blood. He screamed his name and moved to dive after him but Smaug's grinned face loomed into his path.

"One down," said the dragon, smoking issuing in a line from his mouth. "One to go."

The world turned red before Realn's eyes. He heard himself scream but did not know what he said. Smaug chuckled, the rumble rising from his stomach.

"Monster!" Realn spat. His anger and grief mixed inside him, transformed into a hurricane of force and emotion.

Fire, more powerful than the world had ever seen and by far the most powerful the world would ever see, exploded from his hand. It hit Smaug in the face and sent him reeling back, scales smoldering and several on his proud breast puddles of melted flesh.

Smaug roared as he escaped the orb of flame. His eyes met Realn's and the elf's burned straight through him. his hands curled back, unleashing another dose of white-hot fury.

Smaug banked, the cone of fire slashing past his head. He bared his claws, recognizing the sudden threat of the flames, and swooped in on Realn's flank, spitting fire. But the elf brushed the fire aside like he might a fly and turned with him; challenge alive in his eyes.

A smile appeared on Realn's lips; the curve tainted by cruelty. He raised his hands and cried, "Flee, Smaug, to the darkest reaches of the world. Flee or face me but know I will kill you either way."

Realn's fire hit Smaug full blast at the same time the night was lit by a vibrant streak of blue. The lightning cracked against Smaug's neck simultaneously with the black arrow lancing through the single hole in Smaug's breast. As the dragon fell, the fire dying from his breast, it was impossible to say what had landed the killing blow; fire, lightning, or arrow.

A cascade of water rose as Smaug hit the surface of the lake. It fell to embrace him, dragging his body to a prison forevermore in the mud below Laketown.

"Brenen . . . " Realn hung his head as he drifted with gravity, unaware of the movement until his feet touched solid planking. He knelt and buried his head in his hands to weep. What could he tell ada and nana? What he say? "Oh, Brenen!"

"Here," a voice croaked.

Realn's head jerked up. Coming toward him was Thorin with Brenen in his arms.

Realn choked out a cry, digging his orb from his pocket and holding it tight before his emotions could swamp him. He ran for his brother as Thorin set Brenen down against the support of a house. He grabbed his hand as he skidded to a halt on his knees.

Brenen's smile wavered, one arm wrapped around his waist. "I am all right. Smaug's claws grazed me. All I have is a scratch and a couple bruised ribs."

Realn leaned forward to hug him, looking up to thank Thorin with his heart in his eyes. Thorin muttered and turned away.

Brenen winced a little as Realn pulled away. "Forgive me for calling you a fool."

Realn grinned. "Of course." He sat back, his hold loosening on his orb.

Thorin's eyes fell on the jewel and, for a moment, his heart leapt for he thought he beheld the Arkenstone, so breathtaking was the jewel. He took a step forward and requested, "May I see your orb?"

Realn looked up, still smiling though he hesitated before offering his hand, movements jerky as he uncurled his fingers from the crystal ball. Thorin took it and Realn spun back to his brother.

"Where did you obtain this?" Thorin asked, gazing at the hoops of fire and water swirling within the crystal, the smaller hoop of fire turning within the water. '

"My father gave it to me," Realn answered.

"Where did your father steal this?" Thorin demanded, holding the orb out to Realn.

The elf snatched it and curled his fingers around it. "Nowhere. My father is not a thief. He made it with his companions after the alliance of men and elves."

Thorin's eyebrows rose. "Did he indeed?"

Bard hurtled around the corner of the house, crying, "Come quickly! We are the last left on Laketown, and it is sinking. The supports holding up the town from the lake's bottom have broken."

Brenen grabbed Realn's hand and hefted himself to his feet, biting back a small groan. With his brother's support, he fled toward Bard's barge. Already water was creeping over the planks, flooding houses, and sweeping lost dreams into its cold embrace.

Bard, Thorin, and the elves reached the barge in time to leap from the calf-deep water into the dry wood of the boat. Bard picked up the readied oar and guided the vessel out into the waterways.

Brenen looked back. Houses were sliding backwards, dragged down by the water as the planks began to sink under the weight of the town. Rooftops bobbed amongst burned vessels and clothes, reminiscent of a life swiftly forgotten.

The barge sailed clear of the wreckage and headed toward the shoreline. The people of Laketown made a dark line down it; groups of bedraggled beings watching their only home disappear into the night.

The prow of the boat grated against rock and Bard jumped out, anchoring the vessel before he splashed through the shallow water and plunged into the crowds, calling his children's' names.

Realn stepped down, giving Brenen a hand as his brother hisses and struggled to stand upright. Thorin disembarked last and the refugees fell into silence, staring at him as if blaming him for the past yet looking to him for the future.

"It was Bard and his black arrow who struck down Smaug," Brenen said. "As I fell, I saw him fire the missile from the great crossbow tower."

The people parted to reveal the bargeman in the tight embrace of his family. He straightened as eyes fell upon him.

"It was not I who felled Smaug," Bard admitted. "I was on my way to the crossbow tower but the Master, in a frenzy to save his gold, took the arrow from me and knocked me down. It was he who fired the killing shot."

"The Master?" The ripple coursed through the crowd, much like the one lapping against the shore. "The Master killed the dragon?"

Where there had once been no love for the man, there was now a grudging acceptance of his deed.

"Yes, the Master," Bard repeated.

"Well, where is he then?" the people demanded.

Bard paused. "Smaug's tail felled the tower and took the Master with it to the cold embrace of the lake."

A murmur ran through the crowd again.

"Always knew it," Albert declared, swaggering forward. "Always knew the Master would not fail us. But no, you said, cursed him behind his back, you did. I—I believed! A true hero, he was, a dragon slayer with noble blood in his veins! I am proud to be his successor! Master Albert. I like it."

A fist jerked Albert close by the shirt.

"You!" Thorin growled. "I have not forgotten your treatment of me at the gate. As King Under the Mountain, I put forth Bard as the leader of this group. Gidion, Lord of Dale's, blood runs truer in his veins than any other man."

Albert brushed off his robe, lips curled back as Thorin released him. "Of course, sire. I was about to say so myself. I give you Bard! Master Bard."

"Bard! Bard!" the cries sent rippled through the lake.

"I will lead you as best as I can," Bard said. "Though I have no experience at this, our first priority is to make it to the shelter of Dale."

"Why not take refuge in the Mountain itself? Albert asked.

Bard turned to Thorin, but the dwarf was gone, a trail of smoke in the wake of his lightning-powered departure.

"The Mountain is not open to us yet. But Dale will serve us better than these desolate shores."

Bard headed the way up from the lake's edge into the hills toward the old town of Dale. The people once of Laketown followed him, shouldering what supplies they had brought with them on their flight from home.

Brenen leaned against Realn as he walked, wincing with each step. As he set foot on the rise of the hill, he stopped to steady his breath. "I cannot do this. I am exhausted and my ribs are killing me. Thorin cannot do worse; take me to the mountain."

Brenen's suffering awoke sympathy beyond the normal kind. Realn met his brother's eyes as he lifted him and left the ground behind, crossing the great expanse of land between the lake and Erebor.

The hole Smaug had smashed through the mountainside in his flight to Laketown was now sealed by a thick wall of stone blocks built together with battlements manning the top. Above it, a thin line of blackness was all that remained of the hole.

Realn landed on the catwalk behind the battlements and took the steps leading down from the wall. He stopped on the cold floor and looked out into the grey expanse of the dwarven kingdom as he set Brenen on his feet but kept an arm around him.

"Ahem!" snapped Thorin, emerging at Realn's side.

"Ahem!" snapped back Brenen. "If you had shown face earlier in the battle, this would have been avoided. I do not care for your excuses; nothing you say is excusable."

Thorin lifted an eyebrow and Brenen was struck by a sudden urge to laugh. "My father can do that better than you."

"I will show you where your brother can rest," Thorin addressed Realn. "Miserable elf is in a temper." He started down the hall and Realn followed, lost in the seeming endlessness of the halls.

When he reached a door, Thorin stopped and gestured within. The dwarves and Bilbo were gathered, making beds on the floor out of sheets and blankets. Dwalin hacked on dust as he shook out the cloth in a room beyond.

"We will need an extra bed," Thorin said.

The dwarves glanced at the elves, momentarily phased by their identicalness before Kili cheerfully identified Brenen with a critical, "You look terrible."

Realn deposited his scornful brother on a corner bed. Brenen leaned back and shoulders against the wall with a small sigh. He slapped away Realn's hands as they reached for his shirt. "I will be fine by tomorrow. Now go pester someone else. I did not come all this way to be mothered!"

Realn snorted and patted his head. "I should not. You were not born a Thranduilion for nothing."

He could feel the eyes of the dwarves boring into him and tightened his grip on his brother's hand as he felt his ears grow hot. As Brenen settled into sleep, he reluctantly pulled away as Thorin gripped his forearm and invited, "Come up and eat with us. Tauriel is cooking."

* * *

**Indeed, the 'miserable elf' is in a temper. But I could not do it. I could not kill Brenen. **

**Thank you all so much for reading! I love sharing Dragonfire with you, and hearing your thoughts at the close of each chapter.**

**Next Chapter: Two Kings meet.**


	12. Triangle

Bard patted Albert on the shoulder. "Keep a good eye on the night."

The man straightened his robe. "Have no worry, sire. Nothing gets past me."

Bard's eyes expressed his doubt, but he left Albert, willing to give him a chance. Albert settled down on the ground, his back to the stone, grumbling, "Night watch indeed!"

The next morning Bard found him asleep. Albert awoke with a jump as Bard nudged him with his toe, scrambling to his feet. He smirked and leaned a hand against the wall. "All quiet in the night, sire. Nothing passed me."

Bard's eyes bored through him as he brushed past and stood at the top of the stair leading to the lower levels of Dale. "Nothing but an army of elves, it would seem."

Albert gawked. He glanced at Bard as the man hesitated before scurrying into the shadows.

Bard looked down at the rows of elves below him, armored in silver and green. Their plumes and flags blew on the early morning breeze. He was daunted by the sheer number of them; he could not look without seeing an elf. He inched down the steps, unsure how to pass the elves, but they stood aside for him and Bard plunged down a tunnel with its walls made of glistening breastplates. He stepped past the last elf and faced the narrow road leading up from the valley below as he heard the grind of wagon wheels.

Two horses strained to drag a cart laden with food over the last rise. As they reached their goal, the elf seated atop the cart let the reins fall into his lap. As Bard gaped, a flash of brown trotted past him. He looked up to see the moose, its resplendent head held high despite a rack of horns. Its rider looked down.

Though he had not seen him, Bard suspected he stared into the eyes of King Thranduil of Mirkwood.

"I heard you were in need of aid," Thranduil said. He slid to the ground and his mount, devoid of saddle or bridle, retreated the way it had come.

As Bard began to reply, people surged past him, scrambling for the wagons. He stumbled out of the crowd, smiling at the joyous shouts as a line fell into place to carry the food to the cooking fires.

"Why are you here?" Bard asked, finding Thranduil beside him.

Thranduil quirked an eyebrow. "I see it in your eyes. You think I want the gold."

Bard coughed. "It had occurred to me."

"I am here to offer my strength against the malice of greed and also to be a father. I have sons, you know."

"Brenen and Realn," Bard recalled.

Thranduil smiled. "Yes."

"You will find them in Erebor; they retreated with Thorin after Smaug fell."

"Indeed, and I hear it was the Master who finished the beast," Thranduil remarked. "I bow to you, Master Bard."

"It is not an easy task," Bard muttered.

"Leadership is not an easy task," Thranduil said. "Though some crave it."

Bard wondered who the elf king had in mind as he saw Thranduil's eyes dim. Blinking, the elf nodded and walked away, the tidal wave of men parting at his approach as if by magic.

_Why can they not do that for me_? Bard wondered wistfully.

Thorin stood many feet above the ground on the catwalk and watched the group of rider's approach in a cloud of dust from the road to Dale. The thick fur around his shoulders warmed the inside of his cold metal shell.

The riders stopped a few yards from the base of the Mountain, their path cut off by the broken stone that had once bridged the river flowing directly ahead.

Thorin leaned down to peer at Thranduil, scowling as the elf eyed up his defenses. He folded his arms. "Well, elf king, you missed the action. What have you come for now? Not one piece of my gold goes to you. Not one! Do you hear?"

"I am blessed not to be deaf," Thranduil replied. He smirked. "What makes you think I desire your wealth when I have my own? The people of Dale are not so fortunate as you and I."

"So Bard brought you along to strengthen his argument," Thorin mused.

"There is no argument unless you make one," Thranduil said.

"You set free the dragon," Bard said. "Laketown's ruin rests with you. You owe us at least the wealth of our ancestors so we may make a new home."

"I owe you nothing!" Thorin spat. "But what gold Smaug took from Dale I will return to you. Not a coin more!"

"That suits me fine," Bard said.

Thorin glared at the last rider. "Ah, Gandalf. Decided to show face, after all. A moment too late, of course."

"Where is my burglar?" the wizard demanded.

Bilbo peeked from the battlements, standing on his tiptoes. "Oh, Gandalf, I am thrilled to see you!"

"And I you, little hobbit. You have earned much admiration."

Thranduil shot him a glance at that but Gandalf's eyes were twinkling.

"How ever did you manage to sneak around Mirkwood so well?" Gandalf asked.

"It was not easy," Bilbo said, shifting.

"Several ideas occurred to me," Thranduil said.

Gandalf looked at Thorin with a thoughtful expression, searching for the craze he had seen in his father's eyes. He suggested, "I take it, Thorin, you have found the Arkenstone?"

"Ooh, Gandalf, now you have done it!" Bilbo squeaked.

Thorin exploded, "Found the Arkenstone, upon my bloody foot! Your foolish burglar mistook it, yes _mistook _it, for a common rock and threw it into Smaug's mouth. The heart of the Mountain is gone and Smaug along with it! You take your precious little hobbit and never let me see him again!"

Bilbo was scrambling down a rope to the safety of the shadow of Gandalf's horse before Thorin could draw in a breath.

"I always said he would be the end of us," Thorin growled.

Thranduil said, "Whilst Gandalf takes his hobbit, I should very much like to see my sons."

"I suppose you will have to," Thorin grumbled. He snapped, "Fili, tell those two mirror faces their father is here to see them. As for the rest of you, load Bard's gold."

He gestured to Thranduil. "Dying to catch a glimpse of my hoard? I may possibly like Brenen so you may come up. But just this once!"

He grimaced at Thranduil's bow before the elf king alighted before him, smoke wafting from his knuckles. Thorin gestured to a dwarf, "Dwalin will escort you to your sons."

Thranduil bowed his thanks before he plunged into the Mountain. Thorin leaned his cheek against his palm and sighed. "Bullied from all sides. What is Erebor coming to?"

* * *

**Perhaps the loss of the Arkenstone is a good thing?**

**Thank you all so much for reading; your amazing thoughts and observations always make me smile. **

**Ashnazg: Thank you for your comments on _The Two Hunters_ and _A Son's Sacrifice_. It means so much to me you enjoyed both stories, despite _The Two Hunters_ being a bit of a joke parody. It is always lovely to meet a fellow Gimli fan! Thank you also for enjoying the previous chapter of _Dragonfire_ and sharing your thoughts! **

**A very Merry Christmas to you all! **

**Next Chapter: Raileen faces Sauron. **


	13. Crimson Princess

Realn stared at Fili in horror, clenching his orb tight. "My father? Here? Now? I cannot see him."

Fili's eyes were puzzled. "Why not? You spoke so highly of his love and understanding yet you fear him now."

"He will be angry," Realn whispered. "I ran away from him. I do not like him when he is angry."

Fili snorted and patted the elf's arm, noticing he was trembling. "No one likes their best friend when he is angry, lad."

* * *

"Ada!" Brenen cried, rushing into a tight embrace.

"Has this adventure not been enough for you?" Thranduil asked, kissing his son's forehead.

"I battled Smaug," Brenen said slowly. "But I would not be here today if it were not for Thorin and Realn."

Thranduil's embrace tightened into silence. Brenen could feel the slight tremor in his father's strong arms.

"Gracious valar, I almost lost you," Thranduil murmured.

When he pulled back, Brenen's eyes were twinkling. "I am not dead, ada, and do not intend to die. Be gentle with my brother; he is, after all, a quarter of my soul."

Thranduil batted him on the arm. "When have I not been gentle with any of you?"

"I can think of several times!" Brenen shouted after him.

* * *

Realn looked up and gasped as he saw Thranduil framed in the doorway. Fili saw his hand clamp around his orb so tightly, it was a wonder the thing stayed whole.

"A-ada," Realn stammered.

Fili faded into the shadows, shutting the door behind him with a twang of sympathy for the poor elf.

Thranduil said nothing as he hugged Realn with as much closeness as he had Brenen. In the silence, Realn's eyes filled with tears.

"I am so proud of you, Realn," Thranduil said. "So proud."

"You are not angry I ran away?"

"I was the one in error," Thranduil said. "I should have trusted you, as any father should trust his child. But I doubted you and in that I hurt you. I am sorry."

"I was not brave," Realn murmured, hesitating as he met his father's gaze. "I was scared."

"Oh no, Realn, you were brave. You saved your brother's life."

"Thorin did," Realn objected. "I did nothing."

"You did more than you know," Thranduil said, cupping Realn's cheek. "And never again will I doubt you."

"I am not a master of my rampant emotions yet," Realn said, leaning against Thranduil's warm chest. "But I am learning."

"You are learning well. We do not master our emotions; we only befriend them." As Realn straightened, he asked, "Did you find what you set out for, ion?"

Realn chuckled. "Yes, ada, and more. I know myself now and I rejoice you are not angry with me."

"I could not be angry with you if I tried."

Like Brenen, Realn was swift to laugh. "Oh, I can think of several times when that statement is less than true."

Thranduil smiled. Realn asked, "Must you return to Dale?"

"I am afraid I must; I command an army that cannot be left leaderless. You will stay on here?"

Realn nodded. "As long as he needs us, Brenen and I will be here for Thorin."

"I suppose I too shall learn to like him," Thranduil remarked. He squeezed Realn's hand. "Come to Dale when you may."

"I will," Realn promised. He watched his father walk away with a small sigh. When he turned, he found Brenen at his side. He grinned and laced fingers with his brother as Brenen remarked, "Now, there goes an elf Thorin truly would say has too much of an ego."

Realn pinched him. "That is our father you speak of! If he has too much ego, what does that make us?"

* * *

Raileen drew in a breath as he gazed at the ruins of Dol Guldor. That castle that had stood there was now nothing, but crumbling wall and steps and towers broken yet inside each stone was the shadow of his father.

The red-haired elf stepped from the forest line and set his foot on the flight of steps leading into the ruins. Looking up at the dark walls, he started walking.

Raileen came out into a walled courtyard with tall towers on each side. His heart slowed as he circled, his eyes on the tunnel leading out as he sensed Sauron's presence. His fingers went for the hilts of his painted fans as he heard a chuckle.

"If it is not Raileen," Sauron said. "My son. My darling son. You could have been the next great lord."

"I would rather burn then be lord over an enslaved world!" Raileen snapped. He followed his father's voice, crossing the courtyard and mounting another flight of steps. He stopped as he saw the glowing portal set between two stone pillars at the end of the bridge before him.

Sauron emerged before him, clad in black steel, his shoulders resplendent with jutting spikes. He carried a spiked chain.

"You know what I do to benders," he said. "And traitors. It seems you must suffer for both."

Raileen snapped open the folds of his fans. "Come then and face me. It is time we settled our battle once and for all."

"With your head rolling at my feet," Sauron sneered.

Raileen's eyes darted to the portal of swirling red behind his father. Knowing Sauron as he did, and being familiar with dark arts, he knew Sauron could not have come to Dol Guldor on foot. The portal stood as a bridge between Mordor and Dol Guldor and, if he broke the bridge, the magic would die and drag Sauron back to his land.

His fans whipped through the air, touching the currents as he guided them into a gust of wind. With a flick of his wrist, it swept past him and curled around the pillars holding up the portal.

The stone did not shake.

Sauron laughed. "Oh, foolish child! You shame me. I am not so stupid as to leave my means of being here unprotected. You cannot touch the pillars. They are now beyond even my power!"

Raileen swallowed, feeling as if a hole had been torn open beneath his feet and he was falling into it, even his bending refusing to lift him. Without meaning to, he had meant to destroy his father's means of travel, not attempt to kill the man himself.

Raileen darted to the side as Sauron's chain swept past his head, steadying his beating heart. His lips curled back as he fanned the air, curling wind buffeting against the armored chest of the man advancing on him. Yet Sauron rocked back with the wind, refusing to be swept away. He thrust himself at Raileen, shoving him hard to the left.

The bridge fell away from Raileen as he fell, Sauron standing on the edge of the stone and smiling down.

Inches from the ground, Raileen righted himself, the air wrapping around his legs. Like a cloud driven by a hurricane, he soared under the bridge and came upon Sauron, posed to ram into him from behind. As his father swung to greet him, his breath caught. Barely in time to avoid impaling himself on the outstretched sword, he spun to the side, spiraling as he snatched at the air and hovered.

"You are a vessel for death," Sauron cried. "I cannot die!"

Raileen closed his lips over his clenched teeth. The smiling statues and great trunks painted onto his fans creased and fell smooth as the paper swept the air, plying the currents into a funnel. The hurricane swept upon Sauron, whirling him dizzy until it spat him out hard into the stone.

Sauron passed a hand over his head as he climbed to his feet. "You cannot kill me." He stumbled, a little dizzy, and lurched forward, flinging out his chain. Though disoriented, his aim did not fail and the spiked end curled around Raileen's ankle and jerked tight.

The elf flung out his arms, wrapping an orb around himself as he struggled to free his ankle. But the small barbs on the links dug into his hands and, as the sticky blood distracted him, the orb broke and Sauron wrenched him down.

Raileen tumbled to the stone at Sauron's feet, whimpering as his cut hands stained the rock. The world seemed to tilt before a pain in his back brought him back to himself. Sauron's foot smashed him flat.

"Blow as much wind as you like, little bender!" Sauron said. Raileen heard a dagger leave its sheath.

Raileen groaned, forcing as much air between him and the ground as he could. But for all he gave, Sauron's iron boot ground him back down again, rubbing his face in his tears.

A shadow fell as the dagger was raised.

A tremor ran through the bridge.

Sauron looked up. He screamed as the stone cracked, ripping him away from Raileen. On a rock slab, the elf was borne away, leaving Sauron standing at the edge of the drop between him and the rest of the bridge.

Raileen crawled to his knees with a groan, jolted as the slab settled to the ground. Green and white streaked past him.

"Ellhamier?" Raileen croaked, staggering upright. As he wiped his hands against his thighs, red streaks were left behind.

Ellhamier strode toward his father, each step punching a hole into the ground. Flinging out a hand to the Dark Lord, Ellhamier roared. "Back, you creature of darkness! Return to whence you came and rot in the cold iron of your domain! You have no place here."

Sauron chuckled. "Who are you to command me?"

"I am Ellhamier, bender of earth and mover of mountains. You should know me, filth. I created mountains in Mordor itself. And I have the right to cast you back!"

"Nothing can stop the tides I have set in motion," Sauron said. "I will be here to watch this half of the world go up in flames and be reborn under my rule. No one can stand in my way."

"Except me," Ellhamier finished. He clenched his hands, feet sinking into the ground.

Dol Guldor shook and trembled. Blocks of stone crashed down, piling upon the steps. Walls and towered toppled into a scattering of small pebbles. The pillars holding up Sauron's portal shuddered, and Sauron's eyes widened. Ellhamier's eyes burned through him and sent more rock shattering.

"Go back!" the elf roared, his voice the deep rumble of grating rock.

Sauron wrapped his chain around a statue and held on as the portal stretched out, losing its red glow as blackness lanced across it. Its supporting pillars cracked further and snapped in half.

"I will not go back!" Sauron spat. "You die first!"

"You will go back!" Raileen cried. A gust of wind shattered the statue. Ellhamier's rock sliced the chain into pieces. A second cone of air swept the Dark Lord into the hungry portal. The last of the stone fell around it and the red glow died beneath the shower of rocks.

Raileen came to rest on the ground, the ragged wind around him dying. He stared at the fallen pillars, peace settling into the lines of his face. His fans closed and his slid them into his sleeves. He leapt away as the ground split and the last remains of Dol Guldor were swallowed.

Ellhamier closed the earth over the last broken tower, leaving an open disc of flat earth. He turned and grinned as Raileen floated to land beside him, opening his arms to his companion.

"I was wrong," Raileen said. "I needed you. I could not fight family without friends."

Ellhamier nudged a rock with his boot as he broke the embrace. "I would have broken his face for you, if I could. Princess."

Raileen chuckled and brushed his red locks back. "There is no time for that, my Prince, we must travel with all speed to Erebor. We will be needed."

* * *

**Thank you all so much for reading! You always make my day with your thoughtful comments. **

**Hoping you all had a very Merry Christmas!**

**Next Chapter: There is a mystery at the bottom of the lake . . . **


	14. In Mud

"I am afraid, Bard," Thorin said, leaning over the battlements, "We cannot give you your gold. The carts are to heavy too lift and we cannot lower them by ropes over the wall. And, since I cannot risk opening my doors, you will have to wait until all is secure."

His eyes smiled with something akin to smugness but Bard only slapped his hands against his thighs and said, "I know not what you have against me, Thorin Oakenshield, but I applaud you for your ability to hold onto gold as long as you may."

Thorin turned as Thranduil emerged behind him. The elf put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for giving me a glimpse of your realm and a chance to see my sons. With work, I do not doubt Erebor will once again makes eyes and hearts glow."

"Hmm," said Thorin. He grinned. "I sense some envy, elf king." His voice grew haunted. "And, while these halls will bring you to your knees with their glory, never again will the Arkenstone, the King's Jewel, the Heart of the Mountain, bring tears to all who behold it."

Thranduil's grip tightened in comfort, sensing his loss. "I am sorry."

Thorin shook himself. "Well, with Smaug at the bottom of the lake, what can be done? Have you left your armor in my halls now as well as your sons?"

Thranduil glanced down at his tunic and smiled. "No; I chose not to wear it for this expedition. I cannot embrace my sons and feel their warmth through cold metal, can I?"

Thorin grunted. "Any dwarf worth his gold could. Better be on your way, elf king, you have overstayed your welcome."

Thranduil took the second invitation as swiftly as the first and stepped off the battlements, jets of flame slowing his descent. He leaned to his left and laid a hand on Bard's knee, murmuring, "Do not worry for your gold; it is not worth your time when you are needed elsewhere. Come, we return to Dale."

"But," Bard said.

"Dale will be restored," Thranduil said softly. "And gold will not be needed."

Bard glanced at Thorin before he wheeled his mount and headed back to Dale. Gandalf's horse cantered alongside Flyfire, Thranduil's mount. He looked at the elf with a curious expression.

"Have no worry, Mithrandir," Thranduil said. "I know what I am doing."

"Your earth bender is with Raileen," Gandalf said. "And I doubt they will return."

"You are free to doubt," Thranduil acknowledged. "But I have none." He tapped Flyfire and the moose surged ahead.

Gandalf's face frowned but smoothed as Bard indicated the figure ahead. "Can we trust him?"

Gandalf considered. "He is many centuries old; he has wars under his belt, and great power at his command. We can trust him. He will keep his word to restore Dale, at least."

Bard nodded, some anxiety fading into the back of his dark eyes.

"Thranduil is our ally and friend," Gandalf finished. "To make him an enemy, one would have to do something terrible indeed."

* * *

Thranduil rode out the back exit of Dale and proceeded toward the lake. Flyfire's hooves cracked over the rock as he trotted. He reached the shoreline and crossed the beach, stopping at the water's edge. A gentle wave lapped his hooves.

Thranduil dismounted, water splashing up to his ankles. He crossed his arms and stared out toward Mirkwood, waiting.

A gentle fountain erupted near him. In the waist-deep water, Ciran's blue-green head appeared. He waved to his brother as he waded to join him. His clothes were dry when he stepped onto land.

"Well?" Thranduil demanded.

Ciran shook his head. "Nothing. I combed the lake's bottom but there is no sign of Smaug."

"Dragons do not dissolve with such speed, do they?"

"In my experience, no. but as a creature of fire, drowned in water he may have liquified."

Thranduil clucked his tongue. "Perhaps. I will be in Dale. You and Jaiz will be needed so do not stray far."

Thranduil mounted and Ciran nodded as he retreated back into the water. "We will be here, gwador nin. We do not abandon family."

Thranduil turned Flyfire with a smile, his silky hair brushing his cheek as he looked back. "I do not believe you would."

"I did not mean family alone," Ciran called. "I would not turn my back on the world if it needed me."

"And it will," Thranduil whispered. He tapped the moose's side and said, "No bender with their heart in the right place would look away when the very earth cries out for them."

Ciran dove into the lake with a smile. The tendrils of his hair floated for a moment on the ripples before his fingers parted the liquid before him and he slid away into the depths of the lake.

Flyfire trotted uphill. Thranduil's arms hung at his sides, his knees holding firm to his mount. He swayed with the rhythm of each step.

And, within Erebor, Thorin said and brooded upon his throne, his great fur cloak drawn about him as he stared out at the hall. The weight of his crown seemed heavy upon his brow.

Further within the mountain, Tauriel and Kili sat together on a high ledge, contemplating the choices in each other's faces. There was no nagging doubt remaining as the moonlight washed it away and gave breath to love's first kiss.

It was the only moment of peace few would have in the days to come.

* * *

**And here it is, the first chapter of Dragonfire to see 2020!**

**Thank you so much for reading; I always love hearing your thoughts!**

**Next Chapter: Thorin hammers Legolas with a lightning bolt. Again. **


	15. Bones Breathe

Thranduil sat in his tent, his lips soaked in a goblet of wine. Gandalf paced before him as he sipped.

"If what you say is true, Mithrandir, the orcs will be upon us soon."

"You appear unconcerned," the wizard snapped.

"I have my people behind me and fire before me," Thranduil answered, playing with a vine of flame. "My sons and Raileen—" he gestured to the air bender— "with the aid of the dwarves will be enough to meet any army headway."

"There are legions!" Gandalf shouted. "Wine dulls your senses!"

"There really is no need to shout," Thranduil objected.

Raileen chuckled from his seat on a low stool, the sleeves of his green tunic falling back to his elbows as he rested them on his knees. The air bender blew a tangle of red hair from his face. "Wine is Thranduil's friend, Gandalf, and dares not dull him."

"Mirkwood is secure in the hands of my wife, Mykar and Legolas," Thranduil said. He smiled. "With Ciran and Ellhamier to further watch over it and us here to send the orcs packing, what could happen?"

* * *

Thorin glared at the identical faces staring up into his before he allowed himself a smile.

"Indeed, my cousin Dain marches forth," he said. "We will need him if Gandalf is not rambling for once."

"Wizards may be extraordinary, but we have never known one to lie," Brenen said. "Legions of orcs—I like the sound of it."

"Legions are not a joke," Realn admonished.

Thorin glanced up at the place above his throne with a small sigh as the brothers bickered. The Arkenstone—it should be there to twinkle down at him.

Realn noticed his face and said, "I am sorry it is lost."

Thorin patted the elf on the shoulder as he strode past, his cloak a symbol of how heavy his heart lay in his breast. "I am grateful for your uncle's searching of the bottom of the lake for the beast. I am baffled by Smaug's disappearance, to say the least."

"We all are," Brenen replied. He and his brother fell into step beside the dwarf king as Thorin made his way down from the high levels of Erebor to the base of the mountain, where his party gathered.

"Ada thinks it may be black magic," Realn said. "It would take great power to make the dragon and the Arkenstone vanish. Great power."

Thorin shook his head, unused to hearing the king of Mirkwood referred to as a simple "ada". "I do not care for black magic."

"Neither do we," Brenen agreed. He grinned. "Come now, king under the Mountain, it is time for your next bending session. I found your showing against Smaug sad really."

"I will be wiping that smirk off your face, as sure as Durin's beard," Thorin growled. "I will not have you forget I saved your life!"

* * *

Legolas squinted at the sky as he hovered above the bending branches of the trees. Mirkwood lay cold and desolate at the heart of autumn, leaves blown mercilessly across the ground while wind hammered at windows, begging admittance.

The window of his father's office would be locked but Mykar would be at the desk.

The thought of desks made him remember why he was here. He moved past the tree line and swept his eyes over the crumbling stairs and twisted bits of metal. An old human fortress had once occupied the land, until orcs had driven them out. The orcs were gone, courtesy of an old and bloody elven war, but scouts had reported movement among the area.

Legolas saw no light at the misshapen windows. No sound echoed among the fallen rock. He turned to leave and glimpsed bones in the courtyard; white bones long and thick of size, rotting flesh attached to the infected tissues and muscle remnants of the corpse.

Legolas shivered, pitying the victim, and thrust himself into the wind, flying homeward. By the time he reached it, two days later, he was glad to drop onto the strong boughs making the roof of the palace. In summer, the vines snaking through made a canvas dotted with honeysuckle but now the vines lay black.

The elf coasted down and landed outside the doors to his home, nodding to the guards as he passed through the gates and into the palace. Out of habit, he headed for the throne, then remembered Thranduil no longer sat there, and turned his feet toward the office.

The Prince of Mirkwood left behind the open section of the palace and exchanged the flat boughs for halls of smooth wood. Mykar looked up from the King's great desk as Legolas invaded the office. Cinwe stood behind him.

Legolas paused; aware an argument was in full sway. As Mykar said his piece and Cinwe retired with a smile to offer him a hug, Mykar cleared his throat and straightened from his slouch.

"There is nothing in Dol Guldor but bones," Legolas said, cutting off Mykar's coarse demand for a report.

"You must watch your tone, dear," Cinwe exclaimed. "I understand this is your first time bearing up the mantle of Mirkwood, and I am sure you are nervous, but you must remember this is your brother you speak to."

Mykar said, "Ahem! I shall send Ellhamier to destroy the place. The fewer crumbling ruins in Mirkwood the better."

The door opened again, and an elf entered, blue-green hair floating around his shoulders as if water played with the tresses. Clothed in blue and white, he stopped to bow over Cinwe's hand before faced Mykar.

"Muinda Ciran," Mykar greeted. "What news from Erebor."

"Neither Smaug nor the Arkenstone can be found at the bottom of the lake. I searched and turned up nothing. Erebor's throne is no longer empty."

The water-bender turned to Cinwe and added, "Thranduil sends his love."

"You need not tell me, Ciran, I feel it."

Ciran leaned his palms on the desk. "Gandalf reports an army led by Azog marches on the Mountain. Thranduil says to defend it. We feel as if black magic accounts for Smaug's disappearance. There is caution in the wind."

"We shall double all the watches," Cinwe said. She took Ciran's arm. "Come now, Ciran, you have a son to see."

Mykar folded his arms as his mother and uncle glided from the room, two tall and graceful figures. He glared at Legolas as he realized his brother was smirking.

"Mothers," he grumbled and turned to blaze at Legolas, "As for you, hear the voice of your King and descent to order the watch doubled! I will not have you leering at me while I try to work."

Legolas grinned. "Ada would never speak to me so." He slammed the door with a kiss before Mykar could blow fire his way.

* * *

Six elves sat around a small fire. If they were nervous being close to Ungol, the fortress of Legolas's exploration, their body language showed nothing but ease.

Rita looked up at the dark wall as she chewed the last bits off a bone and chucked it into the trees behind her. She pulled off her gloves and smoothed her hair. "It looks like another clear night."

"I do not know myself how much experience King Thranduil's appointed heir has," Tial chuckled. "I rather think he is being overly cautious but who are we to object when Legolas comes boiling down and orders us all off?"

"That is Prince Legolas to you," Chei admonished.

"There is good reason for caution," Rita said, the twinkle never leaving her eyes. "We may be young, but war is not to be taken lightly. Show respect for your King!"

"I have never done otherwise," Tial said, winking at her.

At that moment a roar from within the fortress sent bats fleeing from the towers and stone crashing into the trees. Silence fell, pretending as if the noise was a dream.

Rita leapt to her feet, dousing the fire with the dirt waiting on hand and stared up at the wall. Her eyes reflected what she saw as a gleaming star rose above the stone, its light and color unequaled by even the sky. Yet, as she watched, veins of darkness threaded through the light and turned the purity into foul.

The towers fell apart and rained down stone on the tree line. Branches cracked as a storm filled the heavy air. The stars were blocked out as the shadow rose, gliding above Ungol. It circled, the jewel gleaming dull, and the stench of rotting flesh beat down on the crouched elves. Its bat-like wings were riddled with holes while bones made its body, devoid of all but a few maggot infested bits of flesh. The stars shone through the hollowness of the living skeleton.

"Valar preserve us," Rita breathed. She knew there was no time to run before the beast swooped down on them and precious little time to send a warning to the King. She reached for a small slip of parchment and an ever ready pen.

Rita's fingers trembled as she scratched out a hasty message. Behind her, the beast dove toward them, like an arrow from an invisible bowstring. She fumbled to attach the message to her companion messenger squirrel. The little animal skittered into the woods as Rita turned with a sigh of relief.

The squirrel paused and looked back. A flash of blue light lit up the night. He whimpered. The elves had taken their loyalty with them to the grave.

* * *

**And so it begins. **

**Much thanks for your kind comments and support; thinking of you always encourages me to write a few words each day. **

**Next Chapter: The horizon burns. **


	16. Rapsody In Blue

Thranduil stood on the highest level of Dale and watched the red light blazing on the horizon without joy for it was not a sunset he witnessed. It was not even a sunrise.

Raileen floated beside him but his voice held poor conviction for what he too feared. "Thranduil, it is likely nothing. A mere—"

"A mere what, Raileen? You know as well as I there are few things indeed to make the horizon blaze so." Thranduil's voice was tense.

Raileen pursed his lips as his feet touched solid ground. "Even if what we fear is true, Ciran and Ellhamier are there. They will protect the forest with their lives."

"I hope it does not come to that."

"Brenen and Realn will be worried," Raileen said. The wind ruffled his red hair and stars shone overhead. The black water of the lake rippled but the red blaze stayed the same, stretching from one end of the sky to the other.

"Yes," Thranduil said. He tore his eyes away from the horizon and stepped off the tower. Swift flames carried him toward the shadow of Erebor.

His appearance could not go unnoticed as the light of the fire made lanterns in the night and two fair-haired elves jumped up from their perches on the catwalk. Thranduil alighted beside his sons as Thorin emerged at the top of the stairs and rested his hands on the merlons.

"Thranduil," the dwarf said.

"Thorin," the elf replied.

Realn cut in, the snap in his voice hiding the tremble his frightened eyes betrayed. "Ada, there is no time for you to carry on your snit! Is it . . .?"

Thranduil grasped Realn's shoulders. "I do not know, Realn. It may be so, but nothing is certain."

Realn closed his eyes, fighting to control his rogue emotions, and Thranduil felt his left arm tightened as he clenched his ball.

"Should one of us not return home?" Brenen asked quietly, his eyes on the sky.

"If anything is wrong, a messenger will be sent to us," Thranduil said, biting his lip as he walked to the ramparts. "But Mykar is untried in the face of peril and I am worried about our family. There is no telling when the orcs will arrive. Brenen, I think—"

He stopped. A bright ball of orange light seemed to break away from the horizon, hurtling toward the dark mountainside. Thorin stepped back with his palms ready and Brenen's eyes narrowed as he gripped his spear.

Thorin drew his arm back as the ball neared his home. A bolt of blue lit up the night. It hit home and the orange ball died, a faint shadow dropping toward the earth with a cry.

Brenen lifted off, calling to Thorin, "Now is as good a time as any to see what you have felled. Though I do not advise shooting blindly."

The elves and dwarf flew in the invisible wake of Thorin's lightning bolt, the dwarf muttering. The limp form lay groaning on the rocks and, as Brenen alighted a few feet away, the fire under his feet flickered over blonde hair and—

"Legolas! Oh valar, Legolas!" Thranduil cried and dropped clumsily to the ground beside his son.

"Ada?" Legolas wheezed, struggling to sit up.

"By the valar, this is the second time Thorin has hit you!" Thranduil exclaimed, his fingers searching for wounds. "Are you hurt?"

"No, only winded. Thorin's bolt upset my balance. I have been flying for nights without rest and I did not have the strength to go on . . . tired."

Brenen looked toward the horizon with dread raging in his heart as Thranduil helped Legolas to his feet and gave him an arm and shoulder to lean on.

"Smaug came from Ungol," Legolas said. "With a jewel burning where his heart should be. Though he was nothing but a skeleton, he spat blue fire and brought Mirkwood to its knees within days. The forest is gone, ada, there is just blackened wood and baked ground. It is _nothing_! Valar, it is awful . . ."

He stumbled as Thranduil stumbled, words failing all but Brenen as he rushed to support his brother and father. The first words off Thranduil's lips were for his beloveds. "Cinwe? Mykar?"

"Few died," Legolas murmured. "Ciran, Ellhamier, and I held off the beast while Cinwe and Mykar lead the people into the underground world Ellhamier has been picking away at over the years. The elves are safe."

Thranduil knew elves must have died. The loss of Mirkwood stung but knowing most of his people lived dulled the pain. He bit his lip, his heart swelling at the many times he had teased Ellhamier for the uselessness of the great expanse of underworld caverns. "We are not dwarves," he had said. "And we never shall be."

Thranduil turned away from the horizon; that hateful, blazing horizon, and gave Legolas his attention. "Come, ion, you need rest."

Without a word, Brenen shouldered his spear and took off for Dale, knowing Smaug could be fast approaching. The armies of Mirkwood needed leadership and Legolas needed his father.

Realn's eyes roamed the sky for anything screaming dragon before he and Thorin soared back to Erebor. Thorin strode into the cold halls, his footsteps grim as he bellowed orders for doubled fortifications.

"Durin has granted us a chance at revenge," Thorin swore. "The beast will die and the Arkenstone will be mine!"

* * *

**It is true.**

**I have burned down Mirkwood and brought Smaug back from the dead. Is that enough plot twists for one story? **

**Thanks so much for reading, people! You make my day with your thoughts. **

**Next Chapter: For the death of Smaug! **


	17. Red Tears

Thranduil lifted the flap of his tent and came face to face with Thorin, reaching for the same flap. Knowing dwarves tended to shout, Thranduil put a finger to his lips as invited Thorin inside.

Thorin stepped into the warm air and glanced around the spacious interior, lit by the red glow of a fire. Brenen was nowhere in sight but Legolas lay asleep on the cot at the far wall.

"Even with an army of elves, dwarves, and men I fear we will not be able to take on a dragon reborn from death," Thorin said.

Thranduil offered the King Under The Mountain a goblet of wine and refilled his own. "It will be a battle to shake the skies. And one Middle Earth will not soon forget."

"You do not fear death?"

Thranduil said, "Fearing death makes it harder to bear, Thorin. I have faced Sauron and lived. I have fought for this world and lived. I have battled the serpents of the North and lived. I do not enjoy war, but I do not fear it."

"It is difficult watching your loved ones die," said the dwarf.

"The duties and responsibilities of a King lie heavy on his shoulders," Thranduil said. "It is not easy to lead your people to battle, knowing many of them will not walk back to their families."

Thorin nodded. He glanced at Legolas as the elf shifted in his sleep and managed to lower his voice. "Despite the duties of a King, I come as a friend. I know what it is like to lose one's homeland. I am sorry Mirkwood is gone."

Thranduil said quietly, "Thank you. It will take time but the forest will grow back. In burning Mirkwood, Smaug signed his death warrant. He made it personal and every elf standing at my back has fair reason to hate him."

"But how does one kill a dragon already dead, ada?"

Thranduil turned away, scolding, "Legolas Thranduilion, it is not your concern to worry about such things. It is your concern to sleep!"

Legolas flushed. "Honestly, ada, I cannot possibly retain my pride with you acting like I am ten! It is my concern to worry, ada, as every elf outside is worrying. What if Smaug comes here, ada, now?"

"Nothing is unkillable."

"But—"

"No buts, ion, we will find the answer, wherever it lies. This world will refuse to burn with the three races all watching over it."

"The key word here being lies," Legolas muttered. He met Thranduil's eyes and flopped back with a small sigh.

"Let us drink to it," Thorin said. He raised his glass and clanked it against Thranduil's. "To the death of Smaug!"

Thranduil echoed the toast and tossed his wine back. He set the cup down and rubbed a hand across his brow. "I must see Brenen. You will excuse me."

Sensing the dismissal, Thorin left his cup and stepped out into the night air with the elf king. Thranduil spoke low to the guard outside the tent, and the elf nodded.

"Cannot have Legolas sneaking off," Thranduil said brightly.

Thorin chuckled and, considering his task over, leapt into the embrace of the stars, hovering over Thranduil's head as if uncertain to drop or fly before a streak of blue marked his return to Erebor.

Thranduil took the steps down to the space his people had set up their tents and found Brenen standing on a high balcony, his hands clenched on the railing as he addressed the gathered elves below.

Aware his presence upset Brenen's speech, Thranduil joined his son. Realizing he had been eclipsed, Brenen turned to greet him. "Ada."

"My king!" a voice cried. The crowd took up the cry. "Is it true? Is Mirkwood truly gone?"

"We watched the blaze together, my people," Thranduil answered. "We watched the horizon burn and knew a united dread at what we feared it to be. The forest may be gone but our families are safe in the embrace of the still-living tree roots."

Thranduil saw the dismay flickering across the faces of the elves replaced by instant concern. He knew the thought of the royal trees that had held many of the elves before him as elflings gone was a numbing one. Mirkwood had harbored him since before he was born. No matter the wars of the world, the troubles that arose, and the blood that had been spilled, Mirkwood had endured and lived on. The forest had been unbreakable, eternal, forever . . .

Until now.

"This lies on your shoulders! If you had not dragged us from the trees to fight for a pack of worm-ridden slugs from the mud, we might have been there to protect the forest!"

Jerked from his thoughts by the anger in the elf's voice, Thranduil looked down at her. Her face was red, furious, but her eyes were broken, and her clenched hands fought to hold back the tears.

"I share your loss," he said. "Mirkwood may be gone but we are not lost. The forest will live on in our hearts until the first new saplings spring from the ground."

"I do not wish to picture the trees burned and shattered," an elf said, shuddering.

The woman snapped, "I could not care less if you share our loss! Nothing will change what has happened; nothing! I will go home to my daughter and find her hidden away in the shadows of a miserable cave!"

Thranduil bit his lip. "Many of us, including myself, will face that nightmare when we return home. I wish to run back to the forest and let my family help me bear the loss. But we are needed here, so what happened to Mirkwood is not repeated. Smaug will come here next. Then we will have our vengeance."

None of the gathered elves wore armor, save the sentinels still stalwart in gold and green. The tents stretched behind them, cast over with shadows as they moved in sudden fear.

"I do not stand with you!" the woman shouted. "What kind of king are you, to choose dwarves over your own people?"

She was still fighting to hold back her tears. The hate in her voice shoved Thranduil over the edge. He rested his head on Brenen's shoulder and wept.

While he might have flushed red in any other situation, Brenen said nothing, unconscious of the sudden silence. As his father had often hugged him as a child, he held Thranduil close, the pain of how much Thranduil had to bear biting at his heart. When the last storm clouds were gone from his heart, the king straightened and offered Brenen a gracious smile as he wiped his eyes.

The woman was crying now, her fair hair spilling over the arm of her companion as he supported her.

"My king, we follow you," an elf said. "We will follow you to hell and back in appreciation of your honesty and judgement. If you must long for your family but live without it, so will we."

"I am sorry to say I do not suffer as much as you do," Thranduil said weakly. "I have some of my sons with me."

The elf grinned and gestured to three warriors. "So do I. And a daughter."

Thranduil chuckled. "I cannot ask you to walk to war with me; I do not have the right to ask you to face death. If any of you desire to leave, you are free to do so."

No one moved. The choice was already made. "We follow you out of choice, my king. Whatever you face, we will be at your side."

"Then may the valar watch over us!" Thranduil said, the levels of his voice rising.

The elves scattered to seek solace in their tents with kin. The sentinels returned to duty, hoping the night wind would sweep clean their hearts and carry prayers to their loved ones hidden under the destroyed forest. And Brenen took his father's hand to walk with him to his tent, feeling the sigh in every step.

"You rest, ada," Brenen said, pushing Thranduil into his seat. "I would stay but I must return to Realn and trust you to sleep on your own."

"I will be all right now," Thranduil said. "Go fly."

Brenen blew Legolas a kiss and departed, coming to a skilled halt as he almost rammed Bard in the chest. Correcting his stance, he blew past the human into the night.

Realn's slumped figure sat on the battlements, his legs dangling down over the rock. He tossed his crystal ball, eyes on the red horizon. He leapt to his feet and confronted his quadruplet. "Is it true?"

"Yes," said Brenen heavily, and landed to hug his brother as the glow of Mirkwood burning flickered and died. The stars in that part of the sky were blocked out by the black smoke streaming up from the trees. Even the wind could not blow the dark mist away.

* * *

_**This **_**is what it is to be a good King, in my humble opinion. Thranduil does his best. ****Thoughts please?**

**Next Chapter: A mithril shirt is gifted . . . **


	18. Fairy Pig

Thorin pursed his lips as he handled the mail shirt. He turned as he heard soft footsteps and scowled up at Brenen. "Snooping around my halls, elf?"

Brenen flung out his arms. "What is there to snoop? All I should find is dust!"

"None of your sauce!" Thorin snapped. "I was feeling generous, but the feeling is fading."

Brenen's blue eyes snapped. "Perhaps I am not Brenen."

"Hmm," Thorin said. "I know your fine spirit anywhere. Tell me, do you _bother _to don armor for battle?"

Brenen looked down at his chest. "I do not know. I suppose I must, but I cannot say I ever attach as much importance to it as ada does, with his fancy plate all emblazoned up."

"You will not live long with that attitude!" Thorin snorted. "Here, take this. As I fancy you will fuss like a lady at heavy, proper armor, this mithril will be more to your . . . liking."

"Why," said Brenen. "Anyone would think I walk around in a dress the way you carry on!"

"You are halfway there," Thorin told him.

Brenen slithered into the shirt, its tiny rings of mithril interlocking and interlocking to form a fine mesh. Thorin regarded it with approval. "A perfect fit."

"Your gift warms my heart," Brenen said, bowing. He smirked. "It appears you cannot stand to see me die."

"Oh no," Thorin said. He smirked. "I shall derive great pleasure, my lad, in seeing your father's face when he sees his son in a shirt we dwarves once offered to him for an unspeakable price."

"Well," said Brenen, "I suppose I cannot say you do not deserve it."

* * *

The elves stood gathered outside Erebor, the ranks of Mirkwood's army dull in the twilight. The square was perfect with every warrior in line with the next.

"An army of orcs moves with speed toward us," Gandalf said. "At any moment they could arrive. Think, Thranduil, you came to Dale within days of Laketown's destruction and Dol Guldor is not but days from your palace."

Flyfire shifted, hooves clattering on the stone, and Thranduil dipped his head. "Your words are not in vain, Mithrandir. I understand well the rising sun may shine upon our enemy."

"The rising sun need shine upon Dain first!" Thorin cried, his anxious eyes on the eastern horizon for any sign of his cousin. "He is not one to back out of a fight."

"Patience, Thorin," Brenen advised, looking down at the dwarf from the battlements, the butt of his spear beside his boots. "You will soon reap the pleasure of burning orcs in blue."

"It is easy to say," Thorin grumbled.

Clad in full battle armor, taken from the storerooms of Erebor, and polished to shine, the thirteen dwarves made a solid line behind the battlements with the early morning rays playing over the worked metal. Despite being shorter than Brenen, every dwarf stood with regal bearing, curved shields offset by the stark lines of swords.

Brenen and Realn stood at either end of the battlements, elevated above the catwalk by their stand on the merlons. Even Tauriel beside Kili seemed short in their shadow. All three elves wore shirts of fine mail under their tunics, vanguards and vambraces protecting calves and arms. Red cloaks purloined from Thranduil's store gave the Prince's a final touch of color.

The city of Dale rose beyond the Mirkwood army, smoke rising from cooking fires. The crumbling stone of front wall appeared shabby but were deceptive, as they still held much of their structure, while the levels of the buildings concealed those too small or frail to fight from the coming bloodshed.

Flyfire shifted again and Thranduil leaned forward to rub his neck, murmuring to the moose. Brenen gave him a glance and decided the King of Mirkwood made as fearsome a sight as the King Under the Mountain.

Bard looked anxious, he thought in amusement, mounted between Thranduil and Legolas. He was not without a coat of mail, peeking out from under the rich blue coat he wore, but the weight of his sword was obviously unnatural to him.

Thorin jerked upright as a black bird cawed and circled to land before him. The raven cocked a wicked eye and winked before flapping away as the thunder of hundreds of feet announced the arrival of Dain.

The long ranks of the Ironhill dwarves appeared like a blemish over the eastern rise. Numbering no more than the elves and no less than the humans, the stamp of iron shod feet stilled as the army clashed to a halt.

A black and pink mottled pig trotted forth, stopping at a rock outcrop. Its steps kicked up dust and left heavy imprints under the bulk of its rider.

The head and beard of Dain flamed from under an adornment of helmet and trinkets. He held the impressive weight of a double-headed war hammer in one hand, his corded muscles welded into the shape of his armor and red robe.

The Mirkwood elves turned to face him, the sound of their movement a whisper until Thranduil rode to their head.

"I see I am not a moment too soon," Dain said. He lifted his chin from his chest. "Out of my way, you ninny!"

"There is no need for insults," Thranduil said mildly. "I stand with Thorin. My sons—"

"Durin spits upon the sons of King Thrandoil!" Dain hissed.

A flicker of irritation flashed over Thranduil's face. "I will _thank _you to say my name as it is meant to be said, else the dignity of your insults lies in ruin."

"Well," exclaimed Brenen. "He cares more about his name than noticing his own sons have been insulted! What an ada!"

"Dwarves know of the treachery of Mirkwood's King," Dain sneered. "It is famous among us. We know honor is nothing to you. Any sons of yours cannot help but be as wicked as their father."

Thranduil held up a hand to prevent an indignant Legolas from putting an end to Dain's insults. His son hissed but held still.

"Whoever stands between me and my kin will be crushed," Dain spat. "A fairy princess is nothing in the face of an avalanche."

"A fairy princess," said Thranduil, "To say the least, can stand up to a pig."

At that, Brenen laughed and Dain's eyes bulged in fury, but his verbal assault was cut short as Thorin decided he had had his chuckle and cried, "Hail, Dain! It is good to see you, as fit as ever, bless my beard. Do not concern yourself with the princess; his princes are not all bad."

"Bless you," said Brenen. "You care more for my honor than my ada."

Dain looked up and viewed Brenen and Realn with nothing more than suspicion. "Thorin, upon Durin's beard, if you do not look splendid, I do not know who does. Now, what is all this with the princess?"

Thorin glanced at Thranduil. "We do not cross friends, dear cousin, and the 'princess' is a friend."

"Friend?" Dain snorted. "Friends with elves? _Who _is this perforated snit?"

"I know I expressed strong opinions after my last encounter with him but I withdraw everything I said. There was a misunderstanding."

"You do not sound like the Thorin I know!" Dain roared. "Feeling quite well, cousin?"

The hollow notes of orc horns rang out, cutting off replies on both sides. All eyes turned east. On the highest peak of Ravenhill, a four-tailed flag opened behind Azog and the harsh syllables formed by his tongue tore the air.

The ground sighed as, at the far end of the valley, the crushing, chewing mouths of great wyrms broke forth, flinging rock into the air. From the fresh tunnels, the orcs marched out in ranks, like ink spreading over a white page.

Dain wheeled his pig and trotted it to the head of his ranks as the dwarves turned to face the enemy with a resounding clash of steel.

"I suppose the elves will not stay and fight?" Bilbo whispered to Gandalf.

The wizard shifted his staff to his free hand. "I cannot say. I thought I knew Thranduil, but he is like one reborn and a stranger to me."

"And Thorin," Bilbo added. "He turned out to be a bender . . . it was not pretty, you know, when he blew out his first lightning bolt."

"I understand he shot Legolas," Gandalf said drily, glancing at the third Thranduilion.

"He seems alright now," Bilbo said critically.

Thranduil's eyes were anxious as the tails of the red flag changed and the orcs clashed their shields. The dwarves yelled as Azog's army rolled down the hill, little bits of rock shaken up from the ground at the rumble of encroaching feet.

Brenen and Realn moved to join their people in the charge to meet the orcs but stopped as Raileen plummeted to land on the catwalk.

"Smaug comes," he said. "He rests across the lake, but it will not take him long to flap for the skies and come here."

With an exclamation, Thorin whirled and strode into the mountain. The dwarves hesitated, glancing at the fight below, before following in their King's beckoning shadow. Brenen and Realn dashed after him, exclaiming, "Thorin? Where are you going? Surely you do not flee from the fight!"

"I do not flee! Rather I save myself for the real battle," Thorin snapped. "I will not see that serpent make off with my family jewel! It is mine."

Brenen frowned. "You cannot cower behind these walls while dwarves, elves, and men fight your battle for you."

"I do not cower!" Thorin shouted. "I wait until the fight is worth fighting for."

"I will not stay here while our kin die," Kili said.

"Will you betray your loyalty to me without so much as a blink?" Thorin growled.

"You refuse to lead us," Kili answered. "In your stead, I lead those loyal to our kin to battle."

"Join us when you see fit, Thorin," Brenen called, the sarcasm and scorn echoing in the halls. "A bender draws strength from around him when he needs it. If you do not believe you can battle Smaug after dripping sweat and blood in the heat of battle, you are weak."

"Get out!" Thorin screamed, blue lighting up Brenen's face as he hurled the lightning bolt. Only stone shattered and crumbled as the dwarves left him alone in the halls of Erebor.

* * *

**As I happen to be re-watching The Desolation of Smaug, I cannot help but think how similar and unfamiliar this Dragonfire rendition of the story is! I took all my pet peeves and made them loves. **

**Thanks so much for reading, people, and encouraging me along.**

**Next Chapter: Dain challenges Thranduil**


	19. Stepping Stones

Dain yelled as the orcs charged, the deep notes of his voice shaking the valley. As the dwarves behind him locked their shields together, he marched his pig forward. A stamp of his hammer against the ground and it split, tearing apart to form a chasm. The line cracked further, and Dain smirked, watching orcs topple over the edge.

His smile was short lived as a gesture from Azog burst springs from deep within the veins of the earth and flooded the chasm. A swipe of his handless arm and the liquid turned to ice.

"Durin's beard!" Dain snorted. "Miserable filth is a bender!"

The orcs reached the dwarven line. Dain's pig protested but no blood drenched the thrust-out spears of the kneeling warriors as the earth rolled like a carpet shaken and reared to freeze into a wall ten feet high and almost as thick.

Another horn rang out. The wall shattered, and an orc leered through, ragged teeth cutting into its lip as it clenched a fist and manipulated a net of boulders to rise.

Dain's eyes turned the rocks to dust, but already more were rising, and a line behind the first orc proved their ability to bend as water, fire earth, and air came alive in enemy hands. He fought back the earth as it struggled to erupt beneath his men, baring his teeth as the fight made itself known in his spirit. Concentrated on one task, the water sweeping toward him carved a free path.

"Oh, where is Ciran when I need him?" Thranduil lamented.

The first line of elves crested the dwarven shields, but he was far in the lead, Flyfire left barebacked as he landed, an explosion of fire rocketing the orcs around him back. A funnel of flame evaporated the tidal wave headed for Dain and he met the dwarf's eyes, unable to help a sneer.

"Princess!" Dain roared, as the shield wall disassembled and thrust itself into the growing fray. He slammed a fist into the earth, watching plates of rock grow up his arms until he stood encased in the rock yet moving as though clad in cotton.

Not to be outdone, Thranduil took a step. The fire started at his ankles, swarming up his legs and encircled his bent waist. By the time his foot landed, the fire haloed his head, turning him into as much a representation of flame as Dain of earth.

The drums started. They lent an odd music, so devoid of rhythm, the beat came clearer than ever. Dain threw his hammer, the flat head breaking a hole in the earth. It expanded, swallowing writhing bodies, and closed as the handle returned to Dain's hand.

Thranduil sucked in a breath and torched an orc as it threatened to birth a tornado over the battlefield. Dain landed at his back and glared at him.

"Care to match kills?" Thranduil inquired.

"Be my guest," the dwarf replied.

They split, each their own to the beat of the drums. Where Thranduil's movements were as supple as dancing flame, Dain's planted themselves with as much grace as a boulder falling from a cliff. The walls of fire and earth bent and curved, lending themselves to the task at hand. The cries around them only strengthened a resolve far removed from personal quarrels.

Leaving the first charge of orcs shattered with snarling figures spread across the battlefield, elves and dwarves retreated back to form their scattered ranks before Erebor's gates.

Raileen looked to Ravenhill as he alighted beside Thranduil and read the signs on the red flags behind the Defiler even before the back battalions of orcs detached themselves from the main body and streamed toward Dale. With them ran dozens of trolls equipped to smash through the wall. A solid line of catapults hurled rock after rock into the city, toppling weak towers and sending stones pinwheeling into the air.

The air-bender looked to Legolas, but the Prince had spotted the danger and sailed to defend the city with Bard and a wave of elves behind him.

Blood streaked through the mud know, pools and spills forming as the sticky liquid sloshed and stank. Feet tramped through it, dismembered limbs and sightless eyes kicked and jostled. Elven shells lay still, buried in a sea of tangled orc limbs and twisted dwarven faces. Broken and flaming catapults, melted chariots, and lost weapons stared up forlornly at the sun.

"Where in Durin's name is Thorin?" Dain cried. "Miserable cousin of mine, cowering in his mountain!"

Thranduil hovered behind Dain to catch his breath, arms tired and the stench of burned flesh wrinkling his nostrils. The dwarf's hammer swings lacked ferocity and his chest heaved as much as his elven counterpart's.

A single note rang out, high and haunting, and speaking of a call to markets of old. The front gate of Erebor shattered, the carefully built catwalk collapsing across the river as the huge round of a golden bell swung through it. It chimed again as the shape of Smaug's body took form in the sudden gap in the mountain.

But it was not Thorin that emerged.

Flanked by the identical fires and faces of Brenen and Realn, Kili came, bearing no crown but as much a king as his uncle. The decided notes of the bell rang behind him as the dwarves cut into the encroaching ranks of orcs, much like a fish through the water.

Dain let out a bellow and hefted his hammer. His cry surged through the dwarves of the Iron Hills, and the scattered warriors fighting alone wove together to form a strong net as they rallied behind Kili, joining in the thrust into the orcish ranks.

"Do you suppose Thorin would mind if I took down Azog?" Brenen inquired. Sweat dried on his face as he protected the flank, streams of fire billowing before his hand.

"Leave Azog to me," Kili said. "He stole my homeland, butchered my kin, not yours. He will die at the hands of a dwarf."

"You will need a swift path to Ravenhill," Brenen said. "And you are no bender, Kili."

"We dwarves have won wars since before there was bending," Kili answered.

Brenen grinned and whirled to jettison fire on the few orcs straggling up from behind. Over the clash of steel and the horrible moans of the dying, he called, "Muinda Raileen!"

His voice carried on the deft wind manipulated by Raileen's hands and the son of Sauron touched down beside him, red hair glossy in the light of Brenen's fire.

"This dwarf," Brenen indicated Kili, "Needs a step up to Ravenhill."

"It will be more of a jump, but it can be done," Raileen answered. He held out a slender hand to Kili. "I am needed here and cannot accompany you, but I do not doubt any sword will cut deeper into Azog than yours today."

Kili's grip tightened on his sword. "I will strike with the resolve of the universe behind me."

"Jump at my command; your flight to Ravenhill will be swift!" Raileen turned, the black sections of his tunic spinning around his legs as he gathered the force of wind needed under his palms. He closed his eyes to the orcs, aware of Brenen's labored breathing as he built a cone to harbor him.

"To Ravenhill," Raileen breathed, nodding to Kili.

The dwarf jumped, sword ready to stab, and the curling fingers of a wind jet swept around him. Kili gasped, the air sucked from his lungs as the ground receded. He drew his lips back as Azog's scared face loomed into view and the powerful force of the air gently pulled back. He stretched out a hand as the jet died, gasping as the orc's face fell from his view and only one flailing hand saved him from a quick death as his fingers gripped the edge of the high ledge of Ravenhill.

Kili dangled from the precipice, thousands of feet from the ground. The rock dug into his palm as his feet scrambled to find footing on the sheer wall of black stone. His breath came quickly as his eyes turned upward and met Azog's.

The Defiler smiled, drawing his blade back for a quick cut to Kili's white fingers.

With nowhere else to go, Kili felt the rock slid away and he plummeted into empty air. He spun, the ground looming closer, arrows slicing the wind around him, and the blur of orcs and elves growing closer. A moment later he saw the sky; the great, blue sky, crying down on the bloodshed below, and thought of the quiet of Durin's Halls.

A hand cut into his view, accompanied by a blast of warmth. The delicate fingers seemed so fragile, the slender body so weak, yet Realn clutched Tauriel in one hand and offered the other.

Kili glanced at the fast-approaching ground and scrambled for the hand, straining against gravity yet he could only brush the fingers. Realn grunted with him, the wild jets flaring with his struggle. And even when the hands clasped, the struggle continued, the fall continuing as Realn's breath came in hard pants.

Tauriel jumped, rolling to break her fall. Like a pebble skipping the waves, she stood as Kili landed beside her with a thump. Realn fluttered to the ground, leaning his hands on his knees to choke down air.

"Thank you," Kili said, nodding.

Realn coughed out a reply before he fell back to controlling the heave of his chest.

Kili squinted up at the sun peeking over Ravenhill. "Azog cannot fly; there is a back stair. Curse me for wanting wings when feet serve as well! We must be swift before he makes a move; he wants Thorin's head and his alone."

"I will not allow him to settle for yours," Tauriel replied. She clasped his hand and the pair circled the stone base, Realn's fire holding back the few orcs scrambling up the steep ledge below.

* * *

**As I am currently watching my copy of the Extended Edition of T_he Battle of the Five Armies_, I am reminded of not only the aspects of the film that I love but of the aspects I do not love. I am reminded of why I wrote Dragonfire. **

**Thank you all for reading; I enjoy seeing what you love and what you like. I send hearts all around for Valentine's Day! **

**Next Chapter:_"Will the petty elf king not join us? Your forest smolders. Your kingdom is ravished."_**


	20. Carrion Pool

Thranduil's movements were deft and deadly as he left orcs writhing under plumes of black smoke. The swarms and waves of monsters had lessened but still the rise and fall of the creatures continued, leaving elves and dwarves alike crushed in their wake.

Thranduil looked toward Dale as the sure strokes of his sword directed horizontal waves of flame across the torched ground. The screams of the desperate living as well as the desperate dying echoed above the sound of sword meeting sword and falling stone. As he looked, within the city, another tower fell. He saw the red light of fire leaping from alleys and streets and knew Legolas was hard at work.

The elf king's ears pricked up, straining to hear over the loud voice of war but caught no sounds of the wingbeats that might mean Smaug. Casting an anxious look westward, he still saw nothing.

Yet it was from the high crest of Ravenhill that Kili, Tauriel, and Realn saw the speck first. It loomed closer into a shadow and closer still to take on wings and a tail.

"Durin's beard!" Kili whispered, pausing with his foot on the stair he ascended.

"Valar preserve us!" came the elvish sentiment.

The dragon swooped, the sun shining through gaps in his flesh. His magnificent hide now hung in shreds, the red rotting away under the attack of maggots. The smell of death trapped in a coffin drifted by and left elves and dwarf gagging.

Kili choked and pointed as the flight of the beast brought the Arkenstone into view.

Within the carcass of Smaug's chest, the jewel sat in a cage of bone, gleaming. But its pure light was streaked with pulsing veins of darkness and its light turned sickly yellow.

Smaug's jaws parted, teeth yawning as slime splattered the air. An electric blue glow burst to life in his stomach, sending orcs, dwarves, and elves flying as the unnatural force hit the ground and broke rock as well as bones.

"Ada!" Realn screamed.

"Fili!" Kili shouted.

The trio stood in awful silence, straining their eyes for any familiarity within the dozens of bodies pressed together across the battlefield. The hazy clouds of acrid smoke parted somewhat to afford a glimpse of Thranduil, dazed and stumbling with Fili by his side.

"They live," Tauriel said. "Come, we have a rendezvous with Azog."

* * *

Thranduil covered his mouth as he coughed, his breath clearing as he reached open air. He looked to Erebor as a lone figure frowned from the smashed mountain gate. He stepped into the sun.

As Smaug wheeled to make another pass, Thorin raised a fist. His voice came clear. "Ho, you overgrown slug! I have taken back my homeland. You failed to keep yours. Now I am here for the King's Jewel!"

The dragon laughed. "Behind Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. On the threshold of the throne but never to reach it."

"By Durin's beard, you died once," Thorin snarled. "You will forgive me if I kill you again!"

Blue lightning snapped, carrying the dwarf to meet Smaug, Orcrist in hand.

"I crushed an army with my breath," Smaug hissed. "Left a forest smoldering. I can kill you in my sleep!"

"A pity you will not live to see the night," Thorin said.

Smaug's mouth yawned open into gaping emptiness. Streaks of darkness leeched from the Arkenstone swarmed up his throat and exploded into blue light. "You will die, dwarf! I am used to people falling before me like a weak dam to a flood!"

"I am no weak dam, by Durin's beard!" Thorin roared, his hand cutting through the dragon's blue fire. He returned his own bolt with a snarl and heard Smaug bellow as it clipped his bony wing. "I have a well of those to deliver, you overgrown slug!"

"The same cannot be said of your hapless companions," Smaug replied. And he wheeled to sweep down on the troops struggling against the orcs, spitting fire.

Thorin came in his wake, hands clenched, screaming, "Turn and fight, you coward! Your fight it with me, not them!"

Yet the blue fire never reached the ground and his breath went out in relief, worry turning to pleasure as he saw the blond hair of Brenen and his brothers devastated by the wind. It took all six hands to turn the raging wall, pivoting it away from the bespattered elves and dwarves and heap it down upon the attacking orcs, leaving ash in its wake.

"Did I not tell you?" Thorin said. "I have company. I will retrieve my birthright. The Arkenstone is mine!"

Smaug whipped around into the cloud of miniature lightning bolts and howled as they bounced over his bones. In a cloud of blue, he met the dwarf, the force of their fires meeting hurling both back.

The dragon shook his head, meeting Thranduil's eye. "Will the petty elf king not join us? Your forest smolders. Your kingdom is ravished."

Thranduil smiled. "I know what it is to know fate. Today it is written you die at the hands of a King. But it is not I who wears the crown."

"Face me!" the beast commanded, sweeping past Thorin to cut a wide arc and descend on the elf king.

Realn blocked his path, eyes blazing and his crystal orb nowhere in sight. His palm flashed forth, charred and delicate, but not so the fury that erupted, scorching Thranduil's face.

"Carrion bird!" Realn spat, as the dragon reared and flapped back. "You would do well to keep your priorities straight today! Leave my father alone or I will take Thorin's crown and end you."

"You stay out of this!" Thorin snapped. "Or I will end you."

"Come and try," Realn retorted, spinning to throw flame behind him. "You have priorities to, Thorin."

"May I be as lucky as my forefathers," Thorin swore, and wheeled to enter the shadow of his foe.

* * *

**Hey, everyone. As you know, I am so grateful for your kind comments and thoughts! It is wonderful to hear from regular and new readers alike, and your enjoyment of this familiar/unfamiliar tale fills me with so much joy! **

**Next Chapter: _"If this is the end, I cannot die without saying I kissed you."_**


	21. Between Fells

Kili and Tauriel stopped for a breather as Realn rejoined them with a joyous, "The battle goes well!"

"If you call death and a river of blood well," Tauriel said, looking down from the steep stair with shadows in her eyes.

"Wars are not won without a price," Kili said. He hurled himself around the last corner but Ravenhill stood empty, red battle flags alone and few small bones the only sign of life departed.

"Coward," Kili said. He stood in silence.

* * *

"Thranduil! Muindor nin!"

Thranduil glanced up in bewilderment as the voice came through the thick air. He knew the voice yet thought its owner to be safe in Mirkwood. His younger brother struggled out of the bodies packed around him, face splattered with alien blood. Thranduil grabbed Galion's shoulders and demanded, "What are you here for?"

"Cinwe feared the worst," Galion answered, contributing a neat jet of flame to clear the orcs ahead.

"You must return to her, Galion."

The quiet elf held up a hand. His blue eyes lost their sparkle. "Cinwe feared Sauron's showing may have stirred life back into Gundabad. I investigated. And found legions of orcs gathering. As I speak, Bolg marches on the Mountain with forces enough to refortify Azog's army twice over."

The hollow notes echoing from Thranduil's horn choked and died, even as his scattered people swarmed to reform their ranks behind him. For a moment, he was silent, aware of Dain bellowing and the dwarves sweeping to repulse the last few orcs from their line and form a wall again.

So many dead behind him. So many more to follow. He looked to Dale, where Legolas fought, and to Ravenhill, where a glimpse of Realn's hair glinted in the sun. Brenen ran beside him, spear running with blood. But, despite the renewed charge demolishing Azog's forces, Thorin and Smaug still reeled in the sky and the Defiler lurked somewhere.

"Bolg advances from the north," Galion said, turning to spiral a shield of fire into the reforming orc lines.

Thranduil's heart froze amidst his flames. Realn. Realn, Tauriel, and Kili were up there. They would be surrounded and slain in minutes. His son—his son!

"Realn," Brenen breathed. "We must warn him; I will go."

"No!" Thranduil cried. "It is too dangerous. Raileen can travel faster."

"Will you stand firm here?" Raileen inquired.

"Yes, and Dale is safe for now with Legolas and Bard. Go! You must warn him."

Raileen nodded, and left his hover at Thranduil's head, flying through air thick with arrows. Thranduil's eyes followed until he could no longer see even his red hair.

* * *

Kili's footsteps sounded hollow as his feet clattered on the stone. He squinted to see, only his hold on his sword secure. A low chuckle echoed and Azog emerged, dragging a heavy block of chain behind him on a long chain.

The shriek of bats sliced the air and darkened the sky as thousands of fluttering wings wheeled overhead, diving down upon the battlefield with their white fangs glistening in what little light was left of the sun.

Kili's eyes widened at the march of Gundabad orcs below and narrowed as they snapped back to Azog. Realn patted him on the shoulder and whispered, "We have your back. Slay the white-faced pig!"

Kili nodded and hurled himself upon the orc, their grappling forms plunging into the thick mist. Kili could hear Realn and Tauriel behind him, even though he fought to see, relying more on his ears then his eyes as he and the Pale Orc matched blades.

* * *

Bard clutched the merlons as he stared down from the high wall of Dale. Streaming out from behind Ravenhill, the dark waves came marching, cutting down into the fleeting lines of dwarves and elves.

"Ada," Legolas whispered from beside him. The elf bit his lip as he tore his eyes away and retreated to block the new orcs penetrating the crumbling city.

Bard pushed down his despair and followed.

* * *

Kili ducked the block of stone as Azog spun the chain, his flexing muscles sending the stone spinning, spinning. His footing slipped on the ice and he knew the waterfall was not far behind, frozen peaks and rushes of water stopped in time beneath sheets of solid water.

The lanky bodies of goblin mercenaries and orcs swarmed him, tumbling off the stone buildings on either side of the river. Kili gritted his teeth, aware Azog had no qualms about cutting him down in unfair combat. And, though he knew Realn and Tauriel would keep the goblins clear from him, he worried the fire might melt the ice at the price of his life.

The ice cracked and Kili's heart leapt as he jumped at the orc, spurred on by the laughs of the surrounding goblins. Azog clenched his fist, teasing the solid sheet up into spikes. Almost liquid, the frozen water wrapped around his ankles even as the solid sheet split and black water spilled onto the slippery surface.

Kili flailed his arms, lurching to keep his balance and launch attacks of his own. Calling upon every lesson he had ever received in the art of battle, he stood his ground even as it broke beneath him.

* * *

Thorin's mind boiled with thoughts of vengeance as he and Smaug fought. The Arkenstone, shining like a black star in the dragon's breast gave birth to visions of its place above his throne; its home. Showers of sparks and licking blue flames exploded around beast and dwarf, raining flurries of dying embers onto the doomed below.

Thorin looked at the Gundabad orcs advancing, casting them aside as he focused on Smaug and Smaug alone. The dragon twisted and wheeled in front of him, powerful wingbeats whipping the air and making it difficult to keep his balance. Yet Thorin fought on, pressing forward with the force of the lightning beneath his boots, side-stepping claws, tail, and teeth.

Thorin aimed his own bolts around Smaug's chest, looking to shatter bones and free the Arkenstone from its boney prison. He chipped a few ribs, but the King's Jewel sat lodged, leering at him, threaded with blackness.

Waves of blue fire washed past him as he cut his way through them, the heat blasting his face. A claw nipped his arm, drawing blood, and the trickle of it over his skin added to his anger.

Smaug lashed out with his tail and Thorin ducked, thrusting forward with a lightning strike. The dragon roared as the bolt struck home, snapping a bone before it passed through the hollow of his belly. Thorin's smile faded as his second bolt missed and Smaug disappeared behind the wall of blue fire Smaug spat out in one breath.

Again his face blistered as Thorin swept the fire away. He found he could bend it; something in the nature of the blue flame seemed to come from lightning. With a growl, he cast the last flame to the ground and flew at Smaug's head. Orcrist did little to damage the bone but the lightning Thorin directed at Smaug's spine bounced and splintered the disks.

Smaug howled as his back buckled, his spine snapping and collapsing into the emptiness beneath it. He flapped, the desperate beats cracking more of the few bones holding his tail to his legs and his legs to his middle. He spiraled downward, in a haze of blue sparks and Thorin dove after him as the orcs scattered from the place where the dragon's shadow loomed closer.

* * *

Orcs and goblins lay dead around him and no more rushed across the broken ice toward him. Kili knew without looking back the charge of Gundabad had washed across the battlefield. His blade met Azog's again and the hand bearing the chain and stone swept toward him.

The projection of the stone swept up water as it went, the geysers freezing, further splitting the ice. And, even as he retreated, the cracks lanced closer to his feet.

Kili growled and launched himself forward, ducking the stone block, and sweeping his sword across the pale orc's wrist. Azog's hand went flying, still clutching the chain attached to the stone block and followed by a spray of black blood.

Kili grinned as Azog howled, his exhausting replaced by a growing exaltation. He had a shot at victory! And, as Azog howled, the ice shifted, flinging orc and dwarf back. Vibrations hummed through the ice, sending out spidery lines. A moment later Kili heard the sound of water slicing through the frozen fall of the falls, followed by another, and another, and another . . .

"Run!" Tauriel exclaimed. "Get off the ice!"

Beneath him, the river began to flow, and the ice grated, moving closer toward the edge of the falls. Kili rocked, struggling to keep his balance as Azog's remaining hand whipped the frigid depths into a frenzy. Already the Pale Orc was retreating toward the bank, the water freezing beneath his feet.

Kili reached the orc moments before he stepped onto land, dripping water and already freezing. Behind him, water rushed over the breaking ice at the top of the falls and the first long cascade began long before springtime. The ice on which he and Azog stood swept into the current yet he could still hear Tauriel screaming.

Azog slashed at him with his blade, and Kili winced as the tip cut his side. He let himself slide closer to the orc, sliding, sliding, until he jumped to grab Azog's neck, swinging around until he could plant his knees in the orc's back, and brought him face-first to the ice. Struggling as the Pale Orc writhed, his side alive with pain and the heat he knew meant blood, he rammed his sword through Azog's back and pieced him through the heart to the ice.

A choke marked his last breath, the angry currents of water dying, and Kili staggered away from Azog, his legs stiff and no amount of panic brought on by the edge of the fall doing anything to make them move faster.

He could not hear Realn's jets over the roar of the waterfall, but the elf's hand grabbed his and swung him from the ice onto land. Kili landed with a groan, Realn gasping, all but spent.

Kili staggered, clutching his injured side as Tauriel reached him and offered her support. The trio took a moment to gain their breath and looked at each other, as if daring the other to walk to the edge of the cliff and look down upon the battlefield.

Realn was the first to take a step and stopped as Tauriel gasped. Her quiver was empty and Bolg's burned face appeared above them, on a ledge. Realn attempted a flame but it sputtered and died above his fingers, causing Bolg to grin and jump down to land only yards from them.

"This is the end," Tauriel realized.

Kili clutched her hand, straightening his back against the pain. "I will gladly face death with you at my side."

Tauriel looked back but there was nowhere to go for the foaming blue water of the river curled at her heels and only Bolg to greet ahead. Kili touched her cheek.

"If this is the end, I cannot die without saying I kissed you."

* * *

**I am saddened, and you why: Dragonfire is drawing to a close! A few more chapters and this tale will end. Suggestions on what to write next are gladly welcomed. **

**N****ext Chapter: **_**"[Smaug] fought to gain his feet but failed, releasing his rage in a flood of blue fire."**_


	22. Birthright

Tears gathered in Tauriel's eyes, aware of Realn standing in front of her. Prince Realn, a warrior until the end, willing to die first if it meant she and Kili could share one last embrace. His lips touched hers and then she knew nothing else, not even the sound of the river as it sighed with her.

"Long ago," said a voice. "I waged war on your people. Now I finish what I began."

Tauriel and Kili broke apart as a silver flash sent Bolg's head spinning from his shoulders and dropping into the currents of the water, where the foam whirled it around and around and swallowed it.

Thranduil dropped his sword and caught Realn as the elf collapsed. Realn murmured. "It is over. We lost."

Thranduil said nothing, only held him closer as another voice spoke for him. "Are you so sure of that?"

A green-blue head rose from the black water and Ciran stepped onto the bank, a gesture leeching the water from his clothes.

"Ciran," Realn said wearily.

His uncle winked. "Cinwe felt I was no longer needed in Mirkwood and sent me yonder. It is time to end this."

"I do not see how you alone can," Kili said.

"Ah," said Ciran. "I am not alone." And he strode to the edge of Ravenhill to look down.

With a curve of his fingers into an elegant point, he melted the remaining ice on the river, setting the waterfall free. In great waves, it crashed to fill the great riverbank below, filled only by a small trickle. Springs erupted across the battlefield as the ground split and Thranduil glimpsed Ellhamier on the walls of Dale, his fists clenched with the effort.

The rapids rose. And continued to rise, catching orcs by the ankles and dragging them into the gurgling water. As tiny streams flowing from the springs grew, the elves and dwarves scrambled from the confused orc ranks and ran for higher ground, retreating toward Erebor.

The tiny streams reached the main river and carried it higher, the tidal wave overflowing from the banks. It split into walls, crashing across the ground as it yawned open, swallowing whole the bloody remains of war; taking orc, elf, and dwarven corpses alike into the bottomless chasm.

Ciran's breath came in forced coughs, but Thranduil could do nothing as he held Realn, and Tauriel stood rooted, Kili's support.

Orcs fled for higher hills, scrambling up the bottom stairs of Ravenhill, but the water came after them, seeping out of the stone and flooding down the stairs, leaving them empty while clawing hands disappeared into the earth. It seemed the earth would split down to the very core and turn in to two, so far open did the ground go, until no ground was left, only the black pit with Ravenhill shuddered at one end of the abyss and Dale at the other.

The earth closed with a hollow bang. Ciran sank to his knees, his arms falling to his side as the water sank back to its hidden springs and the banks once more contained the river.

Kili looked at Thranduil with indignation. "By Durin's beard, why did you keep those two in Mirkwood all this time?"

Thranduil had no strength to reply as he slowly reached Ciran's side and gave his brother a hand to his feet. The battlefield lay swept of all corpses but Smaug's white skeleton still lay against the mountainside. Slowly, the four made their way down Ravenhill and joined the crowd clustering around the dragon.

Thorin stood at Smaug's side, trying to wrench the Arkenstone free. The dragon hissed and spat but the jewel remained budged.

"You must destroy the Arkenstone, Thorin," Gandalf said. "It gives the dragon life now. With it, Smaug will live forever."

Thorin snorted. "You jest! I will let the beast lie here and rot, then pick the jewel from his remains."

Gandalf used his staff to indicate Smaug's back. Already the bones were splicing themselves back together and he coughed up a jet of flame, weak enough to be banished by Thorin's hand but strong enough to prove Gandalf right.

"Smaug draws his life from the Arkenstone," Gandalf insisted. "As long as it is whole, he will leave and heal."

"My birthright will not be destroyed!" Thorin shouted. "No one has the right!"

"You," said Gandalf. "Have the only right."

Thorin shook his head, smoke escaping from his nostrils.

"Oh, for the sake of the Valar!" Ellhamier strode forward. "I will shatter the cursed jewel. Only one with the right, my foot! Watch me claim the right."

"I will kill you," Thorin warned, raising his hands.

"Come and try," Ellhamier said, chuckling, and he spun away, taking Thorin with him.

Thranduil looked at the Arkenstone as if contemplating his right to smash the jewel. Dain stomped up behind him and set his hammer down.

"Pointy-eared princess!" he sneered.

"I too am glad to see you alive," Thranduil said, inclining his head into a nod.

Ellhamier and Thorin battled to their left, chunks of stone breaking under the impact of lightning strikes. Smaug lifted his wings, shaking the ragged folds. He fought to gain his feet but failed, releasing his rage in a flood of blue fire.

"Oh, c'mon!" Dain exclaimed.

Ciran flung up a hand, a wall of water springing from the ground to block the flame. Sweat appeared on his brow but he held onto Thranduil and forced the water to stay.

Smaug roared and tossed his head, attracting the attention of Thorin and Ellhamier.

"No!" Thorin yelled.

Fili caught up Dain's hammer, gasping at the weight and the cold water as he plunged through the liquid into the dying embers of Smaug's fire. He raised the hammer with both hands, coughing on the ash in the air, but no one could stop him as he swung the great hammer down on the Arkenstone.

Thorin froze as a sharp crunch sounded. But still Smaug lifted off, his wingbeats jerky as he stretched his head upward, twisting and writhing. Smoke exploded from his jaw, each spidery crack spreading through the Arkenstone eliciting another roar of agony from him.

High overhead, in the last rays of the sun, the Arkenstone shattered. Smaug's bones fell apart and joined the cascade of glittering fragments falling to earth.

Thorin howled, raking his hands through the air in an attempt to salvage as many of the crystallin pieces as he could. Beat down by falling bones, the dwarf landed in the rubble and stared at the few shards clasped in his rugged hands.

Slowly Thorin looked up and fixed his eyes on Fili. Slowly, his hands clenched into fists.

"May Durin shine upon us all this day," Fili said quietly, releasing the hammer handle.

"You have destroyed our birthright," Thorin growled. "I disown you—and your elf-besotted brother!"

"You will learn, Thorin, a king needs no jewel to mark him if he is a good one," Thranduil said.

"Pointy-eared princess!" Thorin spat.

Thranduil turned. Supporting Realn and Ciran, he walked toward Dale and Ellhamier followed. He knew he walked over the graves of his people; he could see their frozen faces—their blood in his mind.

"I cannot return to Mirkwood," he whispered. "I cannot bear to see it in ruins."

"It does look pretty awful," Ellhamier admitted.

Thranduil's eyes glared through him. "Exactly what I needed to hear."

Ciran gripped Thranduil's shoulder. "You will endure. Your people need you. Home is where the heart is. Let your heart dwell not on the blackened surface but on the green roots still fertile beneath the soil."

"It will take centuries for the trees to grow to their former height," Thranduil said.

"Ellhamier and I will tend to it," Ciran said. "We will be right there with it, Thranduil, growing alongside it."

Thranduil chuckled. "Would Dain not gloat to here of us, his elven foes, condemned to dwell in underground caverns?"

Ellhamier grinned. "He would. But who says he has to know?"

* * *

**What you do not know will not hurt you, I am told. **

**Thank you all kindly for reading; your thoughtful reactions and comments always brighten my week. I hope Dragonfire brightens yours.**

**Next Chapter: Elves and dwarves are rudely shocked at Thorin's coronation. **


	23. Free Hearts

Dale lay in desolation, its crumbling buildings laid bare. Bodies littered the streets; those of men, elves, orcs, and trolls. The survivors of Laketown had withdrawn to the last standing structures to rest, too weary even to clean the streets.

Thranduil nodded to the triumphant souls he passed; their faces as haggard as his. He and his company made their way to the far regions of the city, where the elven tents rested. About a third of his army remained and, though tired and bloody, the elves hailed their King.

Thranduil replied with a single command. "Rest." And went to follow his own advice.

* * *

Bard peeked tentatively into Thranduil's tent, it had been two days now since the end of the battle and he wondered if the elf King still slept.

He met the commanding eyes of Mirkwood's monarch and stepped inside. Thranduil pressed a goblet of wine into his hands and gestured for him to be quiet.

"I thank you for your aid," Bard said, turning the goblet in his hands. "We would not be here without you."

"It took more than me to win this war," Thranduil answered. "We were all in it together and that is the only reason we stand here now. You have your home back. And the gold to rebuild it."

"I wish I could say the same for you."

"The forest will grow back," Thranduil said. He smiled. "Your condolences are most kindly accepted."

"Hem!" growled a voice, and Bard turned to meet Thorin's level stare.

"I demand a moment alone with King Thranduil."

Bard put down his empty cup, nodded to the Kings, and retreated. Thorin watched the tent flaps dispassionately until they stilled.

"Do not tell me you are here with condolences as well," Thranduil said, a hint of a smile in the corner of his eyes.

In his cot, Brenen stirred and his brothers also shifted. At Thranduil's glare, Thorin managed to key his voice down a notch. He brought out a flat case from his belt, followed by a large pouch of black velvet and set them down on the table.

"Given the past," he said. "I figure you are owed these at least."

Thranduil knew without looking the sparkling jewels of white starlight lay in the darkened receptacles. He bowed his head. "I thank you for your gift, Thorin."

"I know you did not come for the jewels," Thorin answered. He shifted and Thranduil eyed him keenly.

"I had hoped you and your bending friends might craft a jewel akin to Realn's crystal to replace the Arkenstone," Thorin finally admitted.

Thranduil tilted his head. "After all we have been through, I consider that a fair request. It shall be presented to you at your coronation."

"The ceremony will be held in two days," Thorin said. He glanced at Brenen. "I know the battle took its toll on many."

"He will be back on his feet soon," Thranduil said, walking Thorin to the door. "You must excuse me; I am expected to deliver an uplifting speech to my people."

"You sound as if you enjoy it."

"Indeed, I do. Rivers of inspiration flow from me. I have always enjoyed the application of my many—" Thranduil tripped and grabbed the tent pole for support.

Thorin flung his head back and chuckled, the deep rumbles coming from his stomach. He accosted a passing elf and pointed to Thranduil. "Your inspiring visage is overflowing at the ears with wine."

The elf grinned. "How unlike our King to land himself in the drink at the last minute. It has been centuries since the last time."

The elf went to give Thranduil his arm and lead him back inside as Thorin strolled away, his laughter attracting the curious gazes of many an elf more.

Behind him, Thranduil slept, and peacefully slept until the day of Thorin's coronation, where he awoke to the chagrin of his sons as they stood over at the table and admired the starlit jewels.

"I see you are awake," Brenen said, folding his arms. "Perhaps you will settle the debate of who gets to wear it."

"There is no debate," Thranduil said, folding his arms in turn. "I, as King, will wear it."

Realn punched Brenen on the arm and chuckled. Brenen complained, "How unfair."

"You will have a chance to adorn yourself with a crown of star filled jewels as soon as we return home and give the stones to our jewelers to set," Thranduil said. "I do not see an argument."

"It would be my luck to end up with a single crown," Brenen grumbled, glancing at the wooden case, where the lone crown twinkled and teased him.

"A single crown but an abundance of jewels," Thranduil said. "We will have crowns fashioned for all of us."

"But you, of course, have the honor of wearing this one to the crowning ceremony," Brenen exclaimed.

Realn and Legolas exchanged grins as they straightened the collars of their silk tunics and swung the cool folds of their dark blue cloaks around their shoulders.

"Change, muindor, or we will be late," Legolas admonished. "The crown does not go as well with our blue as it does ada's black."

"It is always refreshing to see one's siblings support him!" Brenen cried, as he flung on his tunic.

Thranduil turned to take up his long tunic, the end sweeping the ground. The black cloth was threaded with silver. He and Brenen changed, pinned on silver and blue cloaks, and left the tent with their hair loose. Brenen shot the sparkling jewels on his father's brow a jealous look before he sprinted ahead to catch his brothers.

The streets of Dale were swept and cleared; streams of people made their way toward Erebor, their laughter rising and falling in the early light of dawn. The Mirkwood elves mixed with the humans, simple clothes almost letting them blend in.

Only a few traces of blood and several broken blades marked the ground where carnage had once reigned.

His sons walked ahead, jostling each other in a manner uncalled of by a Prince, but Ciran, Ellhamier, and Raileen fell into step beside Thranduil. The cut of their tunics was identical save for color; Ciran wore blue, Ellhamier green, and Raileen white.

"You are out of color for your bending, Thranduil," Ellhamier said.

"Black is the color of embers and coals," Thranduil said.

"_Dead _embers," Ellhamier sneered.

"You will find out how dead I am if you keep up," Thranduil warned.

"It is a constant grievance to me my hair does not compliment the color of my robes," Raileen said, twirling a strand of red hair on one finger.

Ellhamier scrutinized him. "I dare say you are right. You resemble a blood drop on snow."

"One can tell you are feeling uppish," Raileen returned.

"Given my earth bending, I am rather grounded. Downish, you might say. It is you who is uppish. Always floating away."

"Have you nothing to say?" Thranduil teased his brother.

Ciran smiled. "I think of my son."

"Jaiz is sure to be fine," Ellhamier said. "That elf knows what it is to have fun, even if you left him in charge of Mirkwood's guard back home. He must have conquered the country by now!"

Ciran sighed. "That is why I am worried."

The foursome entered Erebor through the front gates. The rubble formerly littering the halls had been swept away. Ellhamier gestured and winked to Thranduil, "I was hard at work here while you slept."

The stone floors were clean, echoing with the tramp of feet winding toward the throne hall. It teamed with men, elves, and dwarves, the bright colors of their garb filling the grey, torch-lit hall.

Thorin stood by his throne, the dwarves of his company standing close at both sides of his chair. Dressed in polished armor, each dwarf made a confident display of might, their hair and beards adorned with gold, trinkets, and charms.

"Friends, family, countrymen," Thorin said. "We are gathered here to celebrate the defeat of a hated enemy. The orcs and Smaug no longer threaten our borders."

Thranduil smiled as the cheering began. Thorin gave it but a few seconds before he bellowed, and the hall fell quiet. "People of Dale, the gold to rebuild Dale is yours! The city will be restored to its former glory and sit before Erebor with pride instead of groveling as it does now."

Bard stepped forward. "On behalf of the people of Laketown, I thank you. We will be proud to rise up from the ashes of our ancestors."

Thorin nodded. He continued, "We are gathered here to mark the day I reclaim my heritage! When Dale fell, when my people were driven from these halls, I grieved and swore vengeance. Now, despite the prophecy, I stand here, in the stead of my father and forefather, as King Under the Mountain!"

Thorin bowed to one knee to allow Bilbo to place the crown on his head; a simple affair of gold studded with diamonds. He rose to the yells of the dwarves mingled with the cries of men and the elegant clapping of the elves.

Thranduil stopped before the throne. In the sudden quiet, he bowed. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, I am honored to have fought alongside you. I, Thranduil Oropherion, offer you a gift to seal our alliance."

Thorin noted Thranduil wore the jewels of starlight well. A thrill ran through him as Ciran, Ellhamier, and Raileen joined Thranduil, offering first their bows.

The elf King held up his hand and a flame flickered to life. Raileen's fingers joined his, wrapping a globe of air around the flame and lifting it from Thranduil's hands. The flame flickered as Ciran enclosed the ever-flowing air in a thin sheet of glistening water, reflecting deep riverbeds within it. The light leapt and danced as Ellhamier sealed the little world into a perfect ball of pure crystal. He offered it to Thorin with a flourish.

"King Thorin, I present to you a King's Jewel, birthed from the very elements that bind this earth into what we breathe and life from."

Thorin took the globe with a trembling hand, feeling how cool the stone was. It sparkled, dancing to the layers sealed within as he held it up to the light.

"My gratitude is sincere. The beauty of this gem will stand forever in these halls, as a symbol that elves and dwarves can live together. In harmony."

He set the new heart of Erebor into its place above his throne and found it to be a perfect fit. He nodded his head to the room and sat back into the great chair.

As the cheers died, Kili stepped forward. "The jewel may stand strong as an emblem of friendship between earth and trees, but the friendship will run deeper than a vein of gold. I have asked Tauriel of Mirkwood to be my wife. And she said yes."

A shudder of horror rippled through the dwarves of the Iron Hills and the elves gave vent to a small intake of surprise.

"Do something!" Brenen hissed down Thranduil's ear. "The silence is unbearable!"

"What can I do?" Thranduil said, as Tauriel stepped up to take Kili's hand. "I may be King, but I do not command hearts."

Brenen snorted. Thorin flung himself into the breach. "Today is a day for history's making! The Arkenstone is gone. I stand alongside an elf my kin have despised form decades. But he is my friend." He nodded to Brenen. "He saw past racial hatred. I welcome to union of dwarf and elf; may Durin shine upon you both."

"The valar will not be far behind," Thranduil said.

Dain muttered, "It is an insult to the past."

"The past is the past, cousin," Thorin said. "This is the future."

* * *

**I have always loved looking ahead to the future. It is to the future that I look now as I think of what to write next. I love both Nin Chronicles and Benders but the close of a story always sends me spiraling into doubt of the tales ahead. Do I have tales to share ahead or have my words died? I apologize for the short notice but **

**Next Chapter: Is the LAST chapter. **


	24. Heirs

The halls of Erebor emptied as the men returned to Dale and the elves streamed to their tents.

"We ought to return home," Ciran said to Thranduil at the entrance to the King's tent.

Thranduil paused with his hand on the flap. "Yes. We depart at dawn . . . Galion, announce the news to the elves."

Galion bowed and strode to answer the call of duty while Thranduil retired to his tent, drowsy from an abundance of food and drink. Galion and Ciran had seen Mirkwood go up in flames. He had yet to see it but imagining the ashes tugged at his heart.

"It will be good to see nana and Mykar," Legolas said, but his voice sounded hollow.

Thranduil put an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "It will be alright, little leaf. We will see Mirkwood reborn."

"I never dreamed I would live to see it destroyed," Legolas said softly. "In all my years, I have dreamed hundreds of dreams but never of the forest gone."

"It is not gone, little leaf, because it still exists here." Thranduil pressed his hand to Legolas's chest. "Eons ago Mirkwood was not the great forest we knew. This is the cycle of life. In order to grow, it needs space."

"I do not quite like some of the aspects of the cycle," Legolas murmured.

"You have already completed more then one cycle of your life. Eigil tore you apart in the same manner Smaug destroyed Mirkwood. Though it will take the forest a sight longer then it took you to heal, it will heal because we will be there to help it."

"Like you helped me," Legolas said. He smiled.

"Meanwhile, we will all be living like rats in Ellhamier's caverns," Brenen said cheerfully. He drew Legolas away to join Realn at the table, and Thranduil slipped quietly away.

"Tauriel is staying in Erebor," Realn said. "She said she might come to Mirkwood for a brief visit after her marriage."

Brenen grinned as he made himself comfortable in Thranduil's seat. "I see you lost no time with her at the coronation. Her parents will explode. No wonder she is hiding until the ring is safely on her finger."

Legolas eyed him. "And when do you plan marriage?"

Brenen chuckled. "What do you mean, dear little leaf? Mykar is crown prince; he can provide the heirs."

Legolas frowned. "It is not a question of heirs, you dolt. It is a question of a woman."

"No," said Brenen. "I am already married. To a warrior's heart. What could be better?"

Noting Brenen was well on his way into his third cup of wine, Legolas and Realn left him to sing praises to himself.

It was at sunrise, well-sobered by a quiet night, the elves departed for home. Having been bidden a hearty farewell by dwarves and men, Thranduil looked back only when they were specks on the horizon. They followed the river from the lake homeward, noting the water ran black with ashes and the air smelt of coals. As the first blackened stumps came into view, the elves halted, and grief thickened the air.

The trees were burned, trunks split from their stumps. The once-flowering undergrowth and downy grass were gone, replaced by hard, bare earth, baked in the heat of the fire. Bird called mournfully from twisted limbs and the wind sifted ashes.

Tears pricked Thranduil's eyes. Where once a great wall of green had risen to the sky and blocked his view, he now saw for miles the black strip of invisible trees. He cleared his throat, hearing the echo behind him as elves wiped their eyes and surveyed the mess with a gaping hole growing between their hearts.

The King turned to face his people. "I know you are all eager to see your families and I will not keep you waiting. Ellhamier—"

He turned as he heard a squeal. From the mouth of a stair leading below ground, Cinwe emerged, holding her blue skirts above her ankles. She dropped them and ran to him, arms outstretched. "Thranduil!"

He caught her and held her close, whispering, "I missed you."

Cinwe planted a kiss, tasting of hickory, on his lips before she took his hand and faced the forest. "Mykar has been remarkably brave but he is hurting inside. He fears he failed you."

"I will speak to him," Thranduil promised, kissing her pink cheeks.

"Ada?"

Mykar was next off the stair, his eyes tired and his voice hollow as a reed. He walked to stand before Thranduil. Cinwe slipped her hand free as she spied Brenen, Realn, and Legolas, and left Thranduil staring at his son.

Mykar dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "I am sorry, ada, I failed you, and I do not deserve your forgiveness. I accept the full force of your anger and accept any punishment—" he choked on a sob and leaned his forehead against Thranduil's legs. "I am sorry."

Thranduil knelt down and guided Mykar into a tight hug. The Prince who had ruled in his father's stead without a tear clung to him and wept, his face pressed into Thranduil's shoulder.

"You do not need to be sorry, Mykar. You have not failed me; you behaved only as a King could. In your place, I would have done no better. You saved our people, Mykar."

"I could not save the forest," Mykar sobbed. "I-I tried so _hard_."

"The forest will grow back, ion nin," Thranduil whispered. "You made a wise decision when you chose to save our people and forsake the forest."

Mykar sniffled. "It—it was not an easy choice to make."

"But you made it, and you made it well. You were strong and you have made me so, so proud of the person you are growing to be."

Mykar sat back and wiped his eyes. "I am not as great as all that if I am sitting here crying."

"Crying is another form of strength," Thranduil said, and he gave his son a hand to his feet.

Behind him, Ciran waved and as his son emerged off the stairs and jogged to him, followed by a flood of elves; men, women, and children seeking their wives, husbands, and parents in the returned ranks of the army.

"I see you have not conquered the countryside," Ciran said, hugging Jaiz.

His son pushed a strand of black hair back. "I was kept frightfully busy attending to the new underground realm. Ellhamier will have to make expansions to accommodate the returned forces."

Ciran squeezed his hand. "He will be thrilled." He turned to look at the reunited elves clustered behind him; no one was without an embrace, even those who had lost family and friends.

Thranduil's voice suddenly commanded attention. "We have suffered a great loss, my people, but though the forest is gone, we will live on. We will see the first little shoots arise from the soil, we will see the saplings grow for our children and turn to trees for our grandchildren. This is not Greenwood the Great, as it was in my father's time, or Mirkwood as it was in my time. This is Eryn Lasgalen, as it will be for Mykar's time, for he will be the one to lead you into a new age."

And he placed the circlet of starlit jewels on Mykar's head.

"But right now, we are content with the age of King Thranduil," Ellhamier said, winking. "After all, his exploits and the tale of his four wretched mirrored sons is something to speak of. Have you not heard? They are not _really _quadruplets but two pairs of identical twins!"

"There is some dispute as to the actual pairing of the twins," Brenen added. "It is thought my twin is probably Mykar buy I cannot think _how_ I ended up with him."

Amidst the laugher of the elves, Thranduil led the elves of Eryn Lasgalen into their dwellings beneath the ground, and into an age of friendship. And so, the elves lived, more connected to their dwarven counterparts than ever, as the first little green twigs poked out of the ground above them for, as Thranduil said, "A century is but a mere blink in the life of an elf."

* * *

**So, I am pretty happy with the way Dragonfire ended! What about you? **

**Thank you all for reading; it has been a pleasure to write for and to you, and your insightful comments and enjoyment have all helped move the story along! Even though I am bummed this tale is over, I am excited to begin writing and sharing my next book with you. Nin Chronicles: My Prince (working title) will encompass the vast expanse of Thranduil's youth! Excerpt/sneak peek coming soon! **


	25. Nin Chronicles: My Prince

Thranduil scrunched his chin onto his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He hunched his back, but small roots and crumbles of dirt still tickled the back of his neck.

"Thranduil!" Harune's voice brought a glimmer of light into the crevice but Thranduil could not look up without bumping his head. His tailbone dug into the ground and he shifted, wincing as a shower of dirt peppered his blond hair.

Harune's feet appeared at the small entrance Thranduil had wriggled through, his boots peeking out from under the hem of his green robe. Thranduil held his breath but Harune's face appeared as his father dropped to his hands and knees and peered at him.

"This is not safe, Thranduil," Harune said. "Oropher grows angry when you run away."

Thranduil pressed his chin to his knees. "He tried to hit me again."

Harune sighed and shifted to lie on his stomach. "Oh, ion nin."

"I cannot face him, ada," Thranduil whispered. "He is bigger then me, and he does not listen."

"I listen," Harune said. his blue eyes betrayed a sliver of hurt. "There is a reason I am here."

Heat seeped into his cheeks. Thranduil tried to look away but bumped against the wall instead. As Harune's eyes steadied on him, Thranduil slid forward and ducked out under the low overhang of the crevice's mouth. He squirmed to free his shoulders and tumbled onto the mossy forest floor. He glimpsed the sky through the scattered spring foliage budding on the trees above him.

"I am sorry, ada," Thranduil said. "Maybe I—I feel weak running to you every time Oropher tries to hurt me."

Thranduil sat up. Harune sat close enough to him to reach out and brush the dirt off Thranduil's head. Thranduil smiled at the touch and ducked his head to make Harune's hand slid across his cheek.

"Oropher says it is weak of me to run to you," Thranduil admitted. "I did not want to prove him right."

Harune snorted and clasped his hands in his lap. "Let the king think what he lies. We both know what is true. What happened?"

"You know I do not like meeting with him," Thranduil complained. "He tried to slap me, but I ducked. When his face turned red, I ran."

Harune nodded and one of his brown braids came loose to slap his nose. As he brushed it back, Harune stood. "Come, Thranduil, it is almost noon."

Harune's green robe matched the fresh moss Thranduil sat on, long enough to hide his boots but short enough he never tripped on it when he walked. Wide, welcoming sleeves contrasted with the high collar at Harune's neck, but his cheekbones curved smoothly below his blue eyes, always ready to stretch gently when he smiled. Above his eyes, his eyebrows rested like hawk wings in flight.

Thranduil came to Harune's waist when he stood but never found his father's shadow intimidating. He knew the embrace of Harune's strong arms and the caress of his cool hands. He knew the comfort of Harune's shoulders and the steady beat of his heart.

Harune rested his arm around Thranduil's shoulders as the two elves walked, following a spindly deer trail in the forest floor back toward the main path. The deep green of Mirkwood in summer was paler now, as leaves budded and opened in the spring air smelling of damp soil. Grass grew alongside the path, but underbrush thickly covered the forest floor where no feet walked. The elves passed a few cottages tucked back behind trees with small lawns before them.

Too soon the path linked into a wider road made by horses' hooves, which linked into yet a wider strip of hardpacked dirt. The dark shapes of the trees thinned out and sunlight turned the light yellow.

A wall rose up; an abrupt wall of grey stone partly hidden under a veil of ivy leaves crawling between the cracks in the rocks.

Thranduil's smile faded. Behind and above the wrought iron gate rudely shut where the path ended, the first tops of the palace rose. Light wood trimmed with darker eves and window boxes of flowers marked the upper windows, while latticing and moss hung heavy at the roof's edges.

Harune squeezed Thranduil's shoulders as the two stood in the shadow of an oak tree between two of its curling roots. Thranduil nudged old acorns with his boot.

"Why do I have to live here?" Thranduil asked.


End file.
